The Runaways
by John Ryan
Summary: Ali decides to run away before 'A' can cast the final blow. Yet, there is someone she cannot bear to leave behind, so she asks Em to leave everything and runaway with her. But when the truth comes out about Ali's twin Courtney, which will be revealed as the real Alison? Spencer takes up the task of tracking down Courtney to discover the truth. Emison and Wrencer romance.
1. Chapter I: Fools on the Run

_Author's Note: This fan-fiction is something I have been mulling over for a while. In the books, Emily recalls how Ali/Courtney would always speak of running away together, so this is a speculation off that 'what if'; although it is set in the tv universe, I will borrow some ideas from the books. The story takes place shortly before Alison is hit on that fateful night when wearing the iconic yellow top._

 _Alison is a little soft and gushy in this chapter, but only because I wanted to show Ali with genuine emotions, faced with the somber prospect of losing everything in her life. The arrogant Ali and the confident cadence in her voice will be back, after she gets over the initial shock._

 _Since most of the readers will probably Emison fans I should note: while the story contains Emison, it is primarily an adventure/mystery. It is not a fluff piece, or_ _focused_ _primarily on romance. Ali is still the old Ali, so do not get too upset when things between her and Em are cruel and highly disappointing at times. It's a process, and you should just enjoy the ride with Alison in all the dimensions of her character, both the good and the evil — unlike King, I promise it will actually be a meaningful process with Emison._

 _I own nothing. All rights to Pretty Little Liars belong to ABC Family and Sara Shepard. This is merely my little tribute to the unimaginably wonderful world they have created._

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 _Tick tock, princess. You're time is running out. Spend your last days wisely, because soon your only friends will be the worms. Love Ya — A._

Ali stares at the message on her iPhone display. A lump forms in her throat that she cannot swallow. This is merely the latest in a series of increasingly threatening texts from the mysterious A. All the eventualities flash before Alison's eyes. How will this end? There is no way it is an empty prank. A intends to put her in the ground sometime soon. It was not a phantom that choked her last Halloween. With the sins she has committed, this is all frighteningly real. She knows what is coming.

And just like that, Alison Lauren DiLaurentis decides to leave town. She turns on her heel and opens the closet door. There is no safe harbor with the police. She'd incriminate herself and spend too many good years of her life behind bars, or in an insane asylum. Even death would be so much sweeter than a deathless death in the nut house, where she is plied with pills and gruel. No, there is no doubt this is the only way to escape a grisly fate.

Yet, tearing herself from everything she knows is not going to come easily. Though she would never admit it to the girls, life was so much more plain before Aria, Hanna, Spencer and Emily came into it. Alison never had this level of control over other people. The four are wrapped tightly around her little finger. To be perfectly honest, it is an ego-rush; an intoxicating mix of fear and adoration. Even sex cannot be this good. But, she also never had this much love in her life. It is their love which pains her heart at the thought of leaving.

Alison teases, blackmails and dominates, but the four are _her_ girls. She pulls a darling sweater off the hanger Spencer gave her last Christmas. A sad smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, recalling when Spencer told the story of how she had to fight this orange-tanned, Jersey shore bitch for what actually turned out to be the perfect gift.

Speak of the devil, a text comes in from Spence: "I've got a free period tomorrow at 2:15, wanna grab a mocha?" And she doesn't know why she does it, but Alison replies with a sweet: "I wouldn't miss it, my darling." She tosses the phone on top of the bedspread and presses a frustrated palm to her forehead.

The blonde pulls a purple suitcase from under the bed and begins to stuff it with everything from undergarments to her favorite gray hoodie. Only the finest clothes and the ones with memories make the cut. Ali opens the top drawer on her nightstand and grabs her black Italian Tactical Stiletto Switchblade, flipping it into attack position—a gift from her second cousin when he returned from duty in Afghanistan a couple years back. She lifts the French poster off the wall and proceeds to skin it. A white envelope reveals itself, marked "Last Resort". She peals the seal off and removes a thick stack of hundred dollar bills, holstering the switchblade in her Tory Burch belt. Ali fans out the yards and tucks them underneath the bright red bra she packed. She inconspicuously re-hangs the poster as if nothing had ever changed.

Her Dad sidles up to the doorpost, but kindly alerts his presence by knocking his knuckles gently against the hardwood. "Hey baby girl," he ejects softly, nudging the door open a little more, "You getting ready to get some sleep?" His eyes snap to the suitcase and then back to his daughter's pale face. "Is there a vacation coming up that I forgot about?," he questions, knowing that he works too much at the office and commonly fails to remember even the big family plans.

Ali taps a finger on the top of the suitcase. "Oh, no Dad, you didn't forget a trip this time," she jests, "Spencer said her Mom and Dad might be going upstate to the Poconos this weekend and she said I could tag along if I wanted to. Sorry, I didn't tell you guys, but I wasn't sure if I was going. I have a lot of homework but I wanted to have everything ready if I decided to go with the Hastings."

Kenneth nods his head up and down, non-verbally agreeing to what she said, without really listening to all of the details. "It might not be a bad idea to get away," he says, resting his head against the door, "You seem awfully stressed lately, and a break might be good for you."

His daughter simply mimics his half-listening nods. "Okay," Kenneth announces, "Your Mom is already in bed, so I think I'm gonna hit the hay." He stands up straight and says in his best parental voice, "You should be getting to bed too."

Before Kenneth fully turns to leave, Ali piques, "Dad," causing him to turn back around. She looks at him with sadness in her big blue eyes, biting her bottom lip. She pauses, praying it is not her asking this for the last time, "Could I have a hug good night and a kiss on the head like you used to do?"

Kenneth smiles and lumbers over to his daughter. "Of course, pumpkin," he replies, wrapping his arms around her. For the first time in a while, she really hugs him. Not one of these quick, light touches. Ali squeezes him tight like it is the last time and for a second considers telling him the truth, telling him everything. He presses a kiss to her scalp and chuckles. "I love you too, Ali," he whispers, "I know you have to grow up and live your own life someday, but I wish it could be like this forever."

"Me too, Dad," she mutters, choking back tears. When she finally pulls back, she quickly wipes her eyes so that he cannot become suspicious and realize his heart is about to be torn out. She really doesn't want to leave, but A is giving her no choice. It is safer for all of them this way, she reasons. If she runs away, nobody she cares about will get caught in the crossfire. And, who knows, maybe in a year or two, she can figure out a way to come back. Hope springs eternal, they always say.

"Good night," her Dad says as he knocks twice against the door frame for good luck. And with that he shuffles out the room and down the hall to be in his own bed with his loving wife. "Knock on wood," Ali mumbles to herself. She would repeated the words every time he conducted the silly superstition up until she was eight years old, finishing what he started to absorb some of the luck.

Alison checks her wrist for the time, feeling the tension spread through ever part of her extremities. It is only 11pm. Dad will not be drifting off to Neverland for at least another hour. The wait is unbearable. That is why terrorist attacks happen in the morning or early afternoon. If you are going to blow yourself up, or die in a shoot out, you do not want to hang around all day. No! You want to get up and get it over with. No use waiting to die, or get to your heaven of 72 virgin girls.

Maybe one last shower. God knows when she will have an opportunity for a decent one. Her future looks full of flee-bag motels that Sam and Dean might stay at. A whore's bath might be less gross than stepping inside those icky tubs where the drains are clogged with some fat bastard's back hair.

She slips out of the white summer dress that is much too cold for the weather they have been having lately and grabs a towel from the bathroom closet. She pushes the door shut, and, for extra protection, clicks the wobbly lock into place. She takes off the remaining unmentionables and hops into the shower, slipping a little before gripping onto the shower curtain. The warm water feels divine against her scalp. She massages some conditioner into her long blonde locks and makes a mental note to take that small bottle of conditioner she still has from vacation in Atlantic City with her.

Breathing out a sigh, the muscles in her shoulder begin to relax. Yet, the faces of her girls worm their way into consciousness, no matter how hard she fights to block them. Spencer is the only one who can match Alison on an intellectual level. She rarely likes to talk about it, but there is a little bit of a nerdy side to the DiLaurentis vixen. Sometimes there is nothing better than curling up with a good Hegel book; perhaps the _Vorlesungen über die Geschichte der Philosophie_. She can even read a book in German as well as Spencer can read a book in French.

Then there's Hanna who practically worships the blonde goddess. She views Ali as the pretty, skinny version of herself. And, even though Alison never pulls any punches with Hanna, dumping on her whenever a bad mood strikes, a certain feisty spirit and unfiltered tongue will be lacking in her life without the pudgy friend.

Aria has a big heart and the soul of the artist. Ali would not be surprised if she ends up traveling continental Europe someday with some bourgeoisie painter named Xavier. The doll-faced brunette is kind of the baby of the group, spending way too much time with her stuffed Pigtunia, but whenever life feels too overwhelming, Aria's youthful spirit is just the drug Alison needs. Plus, the stuff she knits is super soft. You wouldn't think it, but that black and white mohair bra is simply amazing, even if it is ugly as hell. It is like being snuggled by a cloud. Lodged in her suitcase, it will be something to remember the girl by.

Alison shakes her head, not wanting all these warm thoughts right now. She grasps her temples and tries to physically push them out of her soul. But there is one last face that is going to come to the surface sooner or later.

Emily's caramel face crashes through the barriers erected, and presents itself to her spectral vision. A slight smile cross the Filipina's lips and Ali squeezes her eyes tightly to make the image even more real. Out of the four, Emily is the most special. Ali knew that Emily was into girls long before she did. Em's love for Ali extends beyond the mere fangirling of Hanna. She notices the way Em's heart rate rises and the way her cheeks become flushed every time they touch. It is cute. And, it is thrilling to have that much power over another person's body. It is nice to have somebody look at you not only with lust, like the older men of Rosewood, but with tenderness.

God! Alison collapses to the shower floor and lets the hot tears roll down her cheeks. She stifles her sobs after the first few escape her lips in loud gasps. She contents herself with miming the gasps, her mouth silently contorting into heartbreaking shapes. The sobs shake her body for a good ten minutes, before the wells finally run dry. But, her legs do not have the strength or the will to rise, so she just stays like that, kneeling with her hands braced against the sides of the tub.

Dressed and all packed, this is it. She slips into a gray zipped hoodie and stares at her reflection in the mirror. "You can do this," Ali mouths to her inverted self. The skin is still puffy below her eyes, but she did not bother to put any concealer on. You cannot really tell if she's been crying or if she is merely tired.

Alison drags her feet to the printer and takes the bus ticket from the tray—a one way ticket to Trenton, NJ. The family used to make trips down the Jersey Shore every summer. Her grandmother owns a condo that has enough room for the whole family, and she hid something very precious under a floorboard behind one of the beds there that she desperately needs. Alison snaps the locks on her purple suitcase and eases it down gently onto the ground, her hand sweaty against the cold metal. She nods a little and shuffles out the door with her head hanging low. There is just one thing she has to do before she leaves.

The queen bee finds herself standing outside the Fields' household, stretching the sleeves of her jacket over her fingertips. Emily is surely asleep by now, but Ali wants one last glance before she says goodbye for what might be forever. Wayne was painting the side of the house before he went back to Afghanistan (again), but forgot to put the ladder away. Perfect! Ali picks it up from the damp grass and places it as quietly against the side of the house as she can manage. The street is dead, every light out. Everybody must have turned in for the night. Nobody on this street likes to party. She climbs all the way to the top of the rusty ladder, until she can see into Emily's bedroom. The glass is a little foggy, so Ali wipes away some of the moisture with her elbow. She cups her hands around her eyes and presses her face up against the glass.

Emily sleeps on her side, facing the window, hair drawn back into a ponytail. Alison watches her chest move up and down with each breath. And she doesn't know why she does it, but Ali raps her knuckles against the glass. She instantly regrets it when Emily jolts awake. She rubs her sleepy eyes and glances around the room not finding anything amiss, the blonde hidden in the dark of night, frozen in place. Em takes her hair out of the ponytail and tosses the scrunchy on the nightstand. She settles back down on the pillow, but her eyes happen to travel over to the window, hoping to catch sight of the moon. Emily fights to stifle a sharp squeal. Ali simply responds with a lazy smile.

In seconds, Em is off the bed and at the window. She forces the stubborn window open and steps back to let Alison hop inside. The pale girl rubs her hands up and down her sides, blowing hot air onto her palms, "It's chilly outside." All the sadness that was visible on her face has been replaced with a façade of confident nonchalance.

"What's going on?," Emily immediately asks, "What's wrong, Ali?" Her voice trembles from being started not a minute before. There is only one other time Alison climbed a ladder and woke Emily up in the middle of the night, and that was when her new puppy died from complications. Ali never shed a single tear, but Emily could tell she was breaking apart inside. Em tried to help her through the grieving process by sharing the story of when her labrador was hit by a car when she was only eight, but All just wanted to fall asleep with Emily holding her close.

"Ummm…," Alison stalls for time, deciding whether or not to tell her the truth of the matter, "I'm uhh… leaving, and I just needed to say goodbye." The brunette's eyes go wide with fear, not quite sure what the hell she is talking about. Knowing it cannot be good, goosebumps spread like lightening up the length of her arms. Ali smiles wistfully and shifts her eyes to the side sharply and then back again, as if to shrug with her baby blues.

"What do you mean you're saying goodbye?," Em ejects with a mix of anger, shock and sadness altogether, "What do you mean you're leaving? How are you…?" She doesn't care if she wakes her parents. Maybe they will stop this madness. She move closer to the blonde and grabs onto her forearm, ready to put up a fight if she decides to bolt.

Before Em becomes hysterical, Ali intertwines her hand in Emily's and rocks it back and forth. The truth is dangerous. You are always better off with a really good lie, and that is exactly what Ali decides to give Emily. "You know how we're always talking about running away and seeing the world," Ali says forcing her voice so it is airy and light, as if this is fun for her, "Well, I'm gonna do it." Her eyes sparkle with what looks like genuine excitement, "I am so tired of this boring old town. I wanna have real adventures, beyond worrying about what new designer bag is coming out next month, or which stupid jock has a crush on me this week. There is so much out there that you can't find in safe and predictable Rosewood."

Emily swallows hard, as if her heart were trying to force its way up and out of her throat. "Those were just silly fantasies, Ali," she objects. What is she supposed to say to convince Alison to stay. She cannot lose her, not now, not ever. She can never lose the feeling of Ali's warm hand in hers. Em's mind rushes through a million different things to say to the blonde, but it ends up freezing in the flood of nervous energy and going blank. All she can say is, "So you're really going to leave, all of us, your parents, your brother, Spencer, Aria, Hanna, and me? What aren't you telling me?"

Alison rolls her eyes in response to the sadness radiating off of Emily's body. "Ugh, don't put that guilt trip on me," She pushes past the brunette and quickly swings back around to face her. "I came to say goodbye to you, and only you, not Spencer, not Aria, not Hanna, but you! But nothing is ever good enough for you." She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, expecting a fight, but all she gets are tears welling up in the Filipina's eyes. "God, fine!," Ali lets out, "I'm leaving because I cannot take living home any longer. My parents told me that I messed up one too many times and that I can't even see you guys. School and home, that is what they say my future looks like. Either that or my Mom is threatening to send me off to military school. And, I am not gonna live in some fascist dictatorship where even the girls hold onto their rifle like its their penis."

"But Ali," Emily pleads with her best friend, "Running away is not the answer. We can fix this. We can talk to your Mom and Dad, convince them not to send you away." She latches onto the hem of Ali's gray hoodie and pulls her close.

The blonde simply shakes her head. "Even Jason's on their side," she coos, "Their minds are made up. They even have military academy brochures siting on the coffee table."

Emily leans forward and drapes herself around Alison, burying her face into her shoulder. "But I don't want you to go," she begs, the sound muffled, "We can't lose you. We love you. I love you."

Alison pulls back to look into the other girl's brunette eyes. She takes a thumb and wipes the water building up in the corner of her eyes. "It'll be okay," Ali comforts, rubbing her thumb in circles on Emily's chipmunk cheek. "It sucks but it'll get better. You've got the girls. Don't let go of them. You have to be strong for me, okay?" Emily shakes her head "no", refusing to pretend she is all right with this. She goes to speak, but Ali shushes her, and continues, "You have to be my rock. I am counting on you to take care of the others. You're the strongest. I need you to be strong."

The blonde cups Em's face with both hands and leans in closer. "I'm gonna miss you the most," she declares, "Remember that, my darling." Alison closes the distance between them and presses a chaste kiss to her lips for at least a few breaths. Emily tastes like the Crest 3D White mouthwash she must have rinsed with before drifting off.

Emily's eyes close expecting more, but when she reopens them, Ali is already standing at the window, one foot raised and resting on the windowsill. She smiles sheepishly back at the brunette, her eyes heavy. Em's mouth hangs open slightly about to speak but too afraid. The moment hangs heavy in the chilled air.

And she knows that this is the most selfish decision, but Ali cannot help but say these words, "You wanna come with me, Em?" She shrugs at the swimmer, as if to lessen the seriousness of the suggestion; as if it were only a passing thought, instead of a hanging question about to stop her heart from beating. She needs to say "yes." She can't be alone.

"What?," Emily mutters innocently, unsure if she heard the other girl right, advancing closer to the pair of windows on the frontside of the house.

"I don't have to leave you all behind," Ali continues developing the thought, "You could run away with me." She pulls her leg back in the room and sits down against the window, folding her hands in her lap. "Honest to God, Em, I don't want to do it alone," Ali almost begs the girl, leaning forward for emphasis, "But with you it doesn't have to something I simply have to endure, the lesser of two evils." Ali stands back up and clasps one of Emily's hands in both of hers, "It could be the best year of our lives. It doesn't have to be like running away, it could be like a vacation." She tucks herself a little closer to Emily and drops her voice to a husky purr to make what she has to say that much more enticing and seductive, "Just you and me, together, traveling the country. I could even take you to Paris. We could hang out in small Parisian, drink wine by the Seine, whatever you want."

Emily's eyes wobble with fear, but with the blonde so close, and the offer so inviting, she only wants to jump into her arms, kiss her and never let go. She bites her lip and listens to Alison sweeten the offer, "We could even stay there forever." But the rational side of her brain has to protest, "I can't leave my family. I can't just leave everything behind."

"You're parents are the same as mine," Alison tries to rebut, weaving truth and fiction together, "But they're better at pretending they're not." There is no response from Emily, so she decides to push the envelope, finding her Achilles' Heel, "Come on, Em. You know what it's gonna be like when they find out about you." She gives her a knowing look, but Emily is still having trouble forming an appropriate response.

"I understand," Ali says sadly, slowly nodding her head up and down, and realizing that this was a hopeless wish, "Bye, Em." She can't expect Emily to leave a loving family and friends for some crazy adventure with her, where the future is wholly uncertain and most likely perilous. No, it is better that Emily stays behind. It would not be fair to her. Ali slides her feet to the window once more, not looking back. If she does, she might not be able to tear herself away from home and everything the girl represents.

Emily dashes forward and grabs Ali's wrist before she can fully slip through the window. "Wait!," she shout-whispers, pulling the blonde back inside, "I'll go… I'll go with you." Her lower lip is still quaking, but she steels her grip and tries to keep her words from breaking apart. "I'll go with you," she says again trying to convince herself more than Alison.

And the biggest grin you can imagine breaks its way onto Ali's face. "You're serious?," she asks just to make sure. A nod is all she gets in reply, but it is enough. "Well come on then," she almost shouts all excitedly, pulling the girl twined in her fingers towards the ladder.

"Wait, wait," Emily clamors resisting the feeble strength of the pale girl, who is not weak by any measure, but not nearly as strong as the girl who spends hours and hours practicing strokes in the pool after classes. For a second, fear radiates off of Ali's body as every muscle tenses, thinking that Em may have already begun to regret such a snap decision. But Emily simply informs her, "I can't go without packing some clothes."

Ali breathes a sigh of relief. "My suitcase is hidden in the bushes down there, so I'm all set."

"What are we gonna do about money?," Emily questions as she opens the doors to the armoire, scoops up few pairs of bras and underpants, and throws them onto the bed.

"Oh, don't worry about that, sweetie," Ali reassures as she flops backwards onto the bed and proceeds to neatly fold the garments Em keeps throwing, "I have more than enough money saved up to last us at least a year. And that includes having fun on the road, not just skimping by on ramen noodles." Emily pulls her wheely-suitcase out of the closet and opens it on the bed. Ali arranges a few of the pieces inside, opening the inner zipper, "I'll take care of you."

Emily turns her back so Alison cannot see the blush dominating her cheeks. "Uh, let me just write up a quick letter," she mumbles, waiting for an objection that never comes from the blonde, "I want them to know I'm safe." She hates to admit it, but Ali is right. Perfect Mr. and Mrs. Fields will never tolerate a gay daughter sullying their 1950s picturesque image around the Rosewood community. They'd probably send her off to one of those gay conversion camps, and like military camp that is not a future she wants to endure. As Emily grabs a pen and paper and begins writing the words, "There's something I have to tell you. Mom, Dad, I'm Gay," her heart skips a beat. This is the first time she has ever fully admitted to herself that she actually is gay. She tricked herself into believing that it was only Ali who made her heart go pitter patter. And that might be true, but she knows what she feels towards her is a thousand times greater than what she has ever felt towards Ben. Ali is the girl she knows she can never have. She is not stupid. She knows that kiss before was only out of pity, and that the other were either for practice or because she was bored. Yet, even knowing it is futile, she rather be by Ali's side as a friend than with Ali gone running around God knows where.

She lifts her head and gives Ali a small sad smile.

After another half-hour of dawdling, the girls finally climb down the ladder and cross to the other side of the street, so that their voices have no chance of waking Mr. and Mrs. Fields. "The cab should be here any minute to take us to the bus stop," Ali announces, checking her cell phone, "I told them not to beep." She notices the slouching of Em's shoulders and she wraps an arm around them.

The cab pulls up on the curb next to them after Ali flags it down. She takes the two suitcases to the back of the cab, not wanting Emily to have to do any of the work, considering she is already making this tremendous leap for her. Em uncharacteristically stands there idly watching as Ali pops the trunk and lifts the suitcases. The dark-haired girl's arms and soul are too heavy to help. The full weight of the decision is starting to hit every part of her body. She merely watches everything unfold, as if in a dream, as Ali leads her by the hand into the cab.

Next thing Emily knows, they are somewhere inside Philadelphia. She gazes hypnotically at all the lights of the city streaking by the foggy taxi window. Alison has not said a word since they got in the cab. "Look who dozed off a little," Ali dispels the illusion that she was awake the whole time. Emily pushes herself up to sit up straight against the cushion. "How long was I out?," she questions, bringing her attention back inside the cab. Even the driver looks tired at this time of night.

"About a half-hour," Ali replies, "We're almost at there." She places a hand on top of Emily's and asks her for one last time, "Are you sure you're still okay with this? If you don't wanna do this with me, we can still drive you home and tear up that note?" The Filipina is the one person she is capable of extending this much leniency to. Emily is so sweet, so innocent, she almost feels bad for teaching Bambi there are hunters in the woods—feels bad for being the hunter in the woods.

Em shakes her head and murmurs, "I don't regret coming with you. It's just hard… it's a lot to take in… a lot to give up." Ali gives her a wry, understanding simper, and squeezes her knuckles for courage.

The taxi pulls over to the side of the road, and the cabbie informs the blonde, "Miss, we're here." Ali pulls a crisp Ben Franklin out from her jeans pocket and responds with a confident, "Keep the change."

Emily slides out first and this time grabs the two suitcases from the back, shooing away Ali when she makes a play for them. The taxi lights disappear into the cold night, leaving the rest of the street practically deserted. Only the Greyhound Bus with its rumbling engine remains. The two walk side-by-side up and into the bus. Ali hands the driver her ticket and then buys another one for Emily. They lumber through the small aisle and plop their luggage on an empty seat across from them. The only other souls onboard are an old lady in the back and a Korean business man reading the stock pages.

The engine eventually starts and the journey becomes totally real. Ali casts a kind glance towards Emily and tells her, "You look exhausted." Em blinks a few times, "Yeah, I had a tough set of swim practices today." Ali shifts a shoulder so that it is facing the other girl, "Get some sleep. I'll watch our bags." Emily looks to fight her, but Alison stares her down with her I'm-so-not-negotiating glare.

Em slouches down in the seat and tucks her head into the pale girl's shoulder, rubbing it up against the softly conditioned hair which smells like pomegranates. "Good night, Ali," she whispers, closing her eyes. Ali snuggles a little further into the brunette, staring out the window, "Good night, Em."


	2. Chapter II: SOS

_A/N: No, time did not reverse. This chapter is supposed to be confusing. It is all part of the mystery. And remember, I am drawing inspiration from the books. Please review. It warms my heart._

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Spencer takes a nervous sip of her low-fat mochaccino and checks her text messages. Nothing new from Ali. Darn! She slams the cell phone on the table, loud enough to make an eye-catching thud, but not hard enough to break the thing in two. Alison is never late and it is almost 3pm. She's got to be back to school for social studies. Mr. Tsakalotos' is not a forgiving teacher and will penalize you with a tardy if you're even a second late.

Spencer throws the notes she was studying with while waiting haphazardly into her black-and-red book bag. She peals a pair of fives out of her wallet and folds them neatly on top of the checkbook the waitress left, ensuring there are no creases. To add further to her OCD, she straightens out the checkbook, so it is lined up with the checkered pattern on the table top.

She bends down to scoop up her bag, while trying to get up at the same time, and stumbles into somebody walking by. Spence trips, spinning in a half-circle and landing on her side. The man is unperturbed and rushes to her side. "Spencer?," he questions in a charming British accent that is too familiar. The brunette lifts her gaze and finds herself staring at an awkwardly smiling Wren, her sister's ex-boyfriend.

Unfortunately, Spencer was the reason the two of them broke up. At a Rosewood ball in a tent-city set up in the park, Melissa told Spencer to keep him company while she freshened up. But, when she got back, the two were locking lips, swaying on the dance floor. It was not as horrible as it sounds. Swear. Wren expressed his admiration for the younger sister long before finally giving into passion. One night on the back porch, while Spencer was reading _Molière_ , Wren had gotten a little tipsy and mused that perhaps he had met the wrong sister first. Things cooled off between Melissa and Wren after that. Wren became distant and distracted.

She had so much more in common with the British boy than her sister did. They both read Victorian English literature and could speak comfortably in French. Melissa didn't get his humor like she did. Even though he was an Oxford grad, he was not a snob. He did not define his success by bourgeoisie methods. Making the big shot through the windmill on the last hole of mini golf was as much an achievement as success at work. In those moments, Melissa merely thought him stupid and immature in those moments. Yet, he enjoyed life, something which seemed impossible for a Hastings. Yet, _with_ him it seemed possible.

Alas, it was not to be. After the breakup, Wren tried to woo her, but not wanting to hurt Melissa any further than she already had, she told him nothing could happen between the two of them. They shared one last kiss outside his motel room, and man, was it the perfect goodbye kiss—like in the movies; soft and sweet, but still loaded with passion.

"I am terribly, sorry," he apologies even though the collision wasn't his fault. He reaches out and scoops up some of the contents that spilled out of her book bag, handing them back to her, as she frantically tries to clean up the mess.

"It's not your fault," she mutters as she throws everything into the bag, "You shouldn't be apologizing for me being such a klutz." This time she secures the zipper, so that the same accident won't happen again. She struggles getting to her feet like a baby foal.

"Sometimes a little imperfection paints you in a more flattering light," Wren compliments in his roundabout manner with a sly inflection, "That is something the Hastings never quite seem to learn." He stands with his arms folded over his chest, as if he were scolding all of the Hastings in that moment.

A slight pink blush breaks out on her cheeks as she tilts to the side to try to hide it. "So what you're saying is that I should make sure I get at least a few questions wrong on the SAT, just for fun?," she flirt-whispers the last part, biting down on her index finger. The two of them can never happen, but what's a little harmless coquetry?

Wren chuckles heartily, but does not say a word. Spence gives him a confused look, as if she's the kiddie who didn't get the adult joke. "You know what's so funny, Spencer?," he cannot stand to leave her hopelessly confused for too long, "Is that you don't even realize how silly it sounds to hear a fifteen-year-old talking about the SATs."

That causes the both of them to burst into laughter. "We should invent a new word," he continues poking fun at her, "Whenever someone is overly obsessed with wining in this studious, nerdy way, we should say 'Oh, yeah she's just Hastingsing things up."

"You think I'm a nerd?," Spencer feigns insult, lightly hitting him with her elbow for show.

"I haven't quite decided," he smirks, looking her up from the tips of her shoes to ends of her soft brown hair, "You definitely have much better fashion sense than the typical nerdy girl." He pinches a piece of her fabric, "Though, I have to say, you would look incredible in a pair of those thick, but not-too-thick glasses that'd make you look even smarter." He taps her temple with the tip of his finger, and adds as he leans in to her ear, "Not that that's even possible."

"Oh, hahah…" is all Spencer's crushing mind can think to say in response. She shakes a finger at him, "You're very smooth, you realize that don't you?" A big smile beams across her visage.

"I'd like to think I've developed something of a charming sensibility over the years," Wren answers in that soft accent of his, where he is able to get away with what is actually an arrogant comment without coming off as overly egotistical.

Spencer takes a few steps back and twirls around in a 360-degree circle, not wanting to leave. "Well, no matter how charming you are," Spencer declares in that lecturing voice of hers, "My answer is still 'no'". She smiles brightly as if to mock him. There is something empowering about having somebody want you who can't have you. Being pined over is the ultimate form of flattery. Wren might see ten really pretty girls over the course of the day, but at the end of the day, she knows it is her face he sees when he closes his eyes in bed.

"You can't blame a guy for tryin'," is all Wren says, still staring at her face as if it were a vividly shining diamond. The incredibly alluring facet of the boy is that no matter how many times Spencer tells him "no," it never phases him. He is still as confident and sweet as ever. All the boys at Rosewood High are so childish that the contrast is horrifically shocking. When she turned Andrew Campbell down for a date, he would not talk to her for weeks. It is refreshing to find a man so mature as Wren. Why are all the good ones forbidden fruit?

The brunette shoves her hands in her pockets and breathes out a sigh, not sure what else to say that won't get her in trouble. "Well," she ejects before he can say something more and stop her from leaving, "I have class in a few minutes," she points back in the direction of the school, "So I should probably go." Her eyes look demurely at his brown loafers.

"Of course," he nods with a slightly detectable sadness, "I have no doubt that fate will be kind to me and this will not be the last time we bump into each other." He side-steps a patron who is leaving with an obnoxious assortment of shopping bags that take up the whole width of the aisle.

"We live in a small town," Spencer retorts with a knowing chuckle, "That's not fate, it's just probability." She moves closer to the door and _ipso facto_ closer to him, clutching her bag like she is ready to exit stage left. His delicious Gaultier Fleur du Male cologne invades her nostrils.

"You have your words for it, I have mine," he strikes back at her, "What is it that the Bard said, 'There are more things in heaven and in earth than you have dreamt of in your philosophies.'" His voice at the end gets all high and mighty, like he is giving a presentation in an auditorium at Oxford.

She slips past him towards the door, always keeping her gaze fixed on him. "Such a cliché coming from a limey," Spencer tosses back at him, before she clicks her heals and pushes out the door, leaving him a final, "Cheerio, Gov'ner," in a faux English accent.

A joyful energy pulses through every nerve ending in the brunette's body. Her gait is something of a bouncy step. She resists the urge to let out a little squeal, so she settles for a small giggle and shake of the head. Spencer knows she has to wipe this stupid grin off her face, before she arrives at school. The girls will ask too many question, especially Alison.

Crossing the threshold to the school grounds, Spencer decides to cut through the parking lot. She spots the bright-haired DiLaurentis girl leaning against a car door belonging to one of the senior royalty who have the conspicuous prerogative of driving to school every day. Her head hangs low and she has one leg crossed-over the other.

"Ali," Spencer calls out. She raises her hands in confusion and shouts, "Where the hell were you? You told me you'd meet me for mochas at 2:15." The blonde simply raises her head and stares at her, not offering a justification for standing her up. Spencer taps a foot waiting for an answer.

But now that she is standing close to Alison, she can tell that something is deeply troubling her friend. Ali's posture is uncharacteristically bashful and her eyes look glassy. "Hey, what's wrong?," Spencer asks in a low, concerned voice, while moving in closer to put a comforting hand on the other girl's shoulder.

"I just got off the phone with Emily's Dad," Ali says slowly as if she wants to delay having to finish the whole thought, "Have you seen her at all today? In any of your classes? At lunch?" The words drip heavy off her tongue, and her eyes beg Spencer to take this gravely.

"No, I haven't," Spencer replies in a increasingly nervous pitch, "I just thought she was home sick or something." She twists to rest her body against the car, next to Ali, their shoulders bumping. All the giddiness from before flees from consciousness, replaced with a nervous cathexis. Alison keeps staring at her phone as if it is going to ring any second, but it never does. "What's going on?," Spencer presses, "Is Emily okay?"

Alison shakes her head and mumbles, "I don't know. She isn't answering my calls or texts." She flicks her front teeth with the tip of her tongue, "Her Dad called me asking if any of us had seen Emily at school today or heard from her at all. When I told him I didn't, he asked if all of us could come over the house… saying it was an emergency." Ali looks up into Spencer's face with wide eyes, "It sounded like there were police officers in the background, Spence."

"Oh my God," Spencer exclaims breathlessly. She twists her head, looking all over the parking lot for any of the other girls. "Where are the others?," she says frantically, "We have to get over there, right now." She pulls out her phone and texts Aria and Hanna: "S.O.S. Something is wrong with Emily! Ditch school and meet Ali and me at her house. This is an emergency!" Spencer takes Ali's hand and begins leading her towards the Fields' home, "Come on, we can walk it, it's only a ten minute walk."

The two girls eventually reach Emily's home, after rounding the winding block corner. A police cruiser pulls away from in front, thankfully without sirens. Spencer is the first to enter the house, not bothering not knock. Wayne and Pam are huddled together on the couch. She sobs into her husband's broad shoulders. Before the girls presence is discovered, Wayne tells his inconsolable wife, "It's gonna be okay, sweetie. I'm sure it's not as bad as we think. She probably hasn't gone too far. She'll come home once she knows we want nothing more than to have her back."

Ali's boot lightly catches the edge of the bottom stairs leading up, and the smack draws Wayne's gaze. He lets go of Pam and rises to greet them. "Spencer, Ali," he says pulling them further into the living room with his outstretched arm, "We appreciate you coming so quickly. I know it's a school day."

"We came right over as soon as I found Spencer, Mr. Fields," Ali piques in an usually subdued tone, glancing back at the brunette, "Do the police have any idea where she could be?" Wayne shakes his head sullenly. Ali takes a look at her cell and informs him, "Aria and Hanna are on their way."

Pam rushes up off the couch and gets in Ali's face, "Where is she you lying tramp?" Alison takes a step back in fear and nearly trips over the coffee table. Wayne tries to reign his wife in, but she is not done exploding, "We read the letter. Don't pretend you're not behind this!" Alison stutters to eke out some words, but Pam is having none of it. She takes a palm and smacks it across the blonde's cheek. "How could you do this to my sweet baby girl?"

Ali's winces to the side from the brutal slap that causes quite a red mark to flush across her face. Wayne jumps into action and physically restrains Pam. Spence pulls the blonde back and into a protective hug. "What the hell is wrong with you?," she fires back at Mrs. Fields, rubbing her friend's shoulder. Spencer turns a shell-shocked Ali toward her and says, "You're okay. It's okay."

"She's the reason our Emily is missing," Pam screams through tears, pointing an accusatory finger at the DiLaurentis. Wayne clasps her cheeks in his hands and says in a stern but concerned voice, "That's enough. We're all upset, but we have to be rational about this. She's here so… obviously things aren't what they appear."

Pam interrupts her husband, "She knows something that she not telling us, and I wanna know what she's done to my daughter." But he is not buying her objection. He calmly out-reasons her, "Ali's here, Pam, so we don't even know what's going on, so we all need to calm down and figure out where she is." The sour expression on Pam's face betrays that she does not really agree, but she sits back down on the end of the couch anyway. Wayne mouths an apology to the blonde, not knowing how else to make it up to her.

"Can somebody please tell us what is going on?," Spencer says worried but also frightened. Emily is the sweetest person, she has ever known. Yet, she has always been terribly naive, seeing too much good in people. It is part of her charm, but also opens her up to a lot of dangerous situations. If anybody has taken advantage of her, Spencer swears she is going to tear them apart with her bare hands, and then use the pieces for confetti in the Macy's Day parade.

Wayne looks to Pam who begrudgingly hands him the letter Emily left for them. Wayne glances at it for a few seconds, not fully believing what is written on there, before passing it onto Alison. Given the sensitive nature of its contents, it is only fitting that she be the first to read it. Her eyes quickly buzz over line after line. Halfway through, the girl goes pale and her eyes go wide. She peaks over the letter at Mrs. Fields who is giving her a death-stare.

Spencer notices the tension coursing through her friend's body, but fights the temptation to swing around the other side and read the letter over the other girl's shoulder. "What does it say, Ali?," she coos, "Does it say where she might have gone?" Some of the ink has bled through the back of the letter, but nothing clear enough to try to read, even though Spence possesses the particularly bizarre skill of reading words backwards.

Before Alison can raise her voice to speak, Aria and Hanna burst in the front door, not bothering to wipe their shoes on the welcome mat. "We got your texts," Hanna trumpets, dropping her purse to the floor, "Is Em okay? Where is she?" Aria and Hanna's eyes both search around the room as if she were hiding under somewhere the throw pillows. Aria forgot her jacket, not bothering to go to her locker before heading over, so she rubs her palms up and down the sides of her forearms.

Regaining some of her tenacity, Ali tells the girls, "Emily ran away and we don't know where she is. We don't even know if she's okay." She taps the letter in her hand and looks over to Wayne for confirmation. Hanna's jaw simply drops open at the news, while Aria is too freaked out and cannot move a muscle. "There's something I have to tell you guys," she says dryly, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

Wayne all but orders Pam, "Let's give the girls some privacy," while tugging on her shoulder. Wanting to put up a fight, but out of all steam, she complies, wrapping an arm over him. Ali gives Mr. Fields a thankful smile, and he just nods knowingly in recognition. Emily's father has always been the softer of the two, even if he is actually a macho military man with two tours in Afghanistan.

Ali sits on the tan arm chair, not saying a word. Aria and Hanna take up seats on the Field's couch, but Spencer remains on her feet, at Alison's side. "Emily and I were," she begins but pauses, unsure of how to say this. The girls wait on her with horrible anticipation, Hanna even leaning in forward. "We were… we were kind of together," Ali forcefully stutters out. The others share befuddled glances back and forth.

"You mean the two of you were," Aria is the first to speak up but she does not know how to finish the sentence, so instead she intertwines her fingers to signify "togetherness." Hanna shows pure confusion at the whole ideal, wondering if she heard Alison correctly. The thought of Alison being with a girl has never once crossed her mind; least of all such a sweet and shy girl like Emily. Ali was perpetually the man-eater. She had two or three guys on the hook at any given time.

Alison merely stares into their faces like a dumb lamb and hands the letter up to Spencer, who rests on the thick arm of the chair. Aria and Hanna slink over to peer at the contents of the letter Emily left behind to explain her actions. They each read the letter silently, though Hanna mouths along with the words. The script is Em's signature, flawless cursive:

 _There's something I have to tell you. Mom, Dad, I'm Gay._

 _I have known for a long time that I've felt this way. But I buried it down deep inside and pretended like I don't have these feelings. I close my eyes and pretend like I'm okay kissing Ben. I pretend that it will all be okay if I just push through it… that someday it will feel right._

 _But I am tired of pretending. I can't do it anymore. I kissed Alison for the first time in the library last semester and I have never felt more alive, or more… me. But, at the time, I forced myself into believing it was just a silly kiss. Now, I know better._

 _Ali is running away from home tonight, because her parents are going to ship her off to military school for bad behavior… and I have to go with her. I know you guys are not going to be able to tolerate a daughter who is such a disgrace to you, anyway. I do not want to be sent away to some conversion camp just so you can pretend like you have the perfect little daughter to the neighbors. I know that after you read this letter, you'll no longer love me. I know what you'll think of me, and I cannot stand to have you looking at me every day like I'm a disappointment and a burden. So, running away is the only option I have left, just like Alison._

 _All I know is that I am irrevocably and hopelessly in love with Alison DiLaurentis. I don't know if she loves me like I love her, or not, but I know that every time we kiss, I feel whole… and this might all end in heartbreak, but I cannot live a lifetime wondering what might have happened. She asked ME to be the one to come with her, and that has to mean something._

 _I can't let her wander off on her own. She is not nearly as tough as she thinks she is, or she appears to be. She needs someone to watch out for her, someone to stop her from getting into so much trouble._

 _Even if you will no longer love me after this, know that I still love you Mom and Dad with all my heart, and I am sorry for not being who you wanted._

 _Love,_

 _Em_

Spencer rubs small circles on Alison's back. "I'm sorry I never told any of you," Ali confesses, "But I didn't know what I felt. I was confused, and scared, so I told Em to keep, whatever it was between us, a secret." She curls into Spencer's side, her long blonde hair bunching up and over the length of her arm. She seems so small, so timid now. Normally, her body projects power outwardly, but today, she is caved in, passive and compliant.

"It's okay, Ali," Spencer reassures, "None of us are going to judge you for 'being' with Emily." Spencer's voice drops a few octaves before she continues, "It is a little shocking for all of us to hear, but we'll get used to it. We just have to find Em first. And, I'm sure the police will find her soon." Not a minute ago, Spencer was a mess herself. Yet, upon discovering this revelation, it is her first natural instinct to play the role of nurturer. The first objective has to be to get Ali back to equilibrium. She and Ali haven't been getting along the last month or so, jockeying for power in their circle, but all that has instantly melted into air, these last fifteen minutes. All their high school problems seem so small compared to this. "Yeah," Aria concurs, teaming up with Spence to reassure their friend who appears so vulnerable now, "I think it's kind of sweet, actually," offering a tiny smile.

"That's not why I'm so upset," Alison growls, pushing her head off of Spencer and clenches her jaw, "I don't care what you or anyone else thinks of me."

"Wait, why are we focusing on the fact that Ali and Em were getting their lesbigay on," Hanna interjects too loudly, "That letter Emily left makes absolutely no sense." All eyes draw their focus to the boorish blonde. "Why is Emily writing that she is running away with Ali," Hanna taps her open palm with a small karate chop for emphasis, "When she is sitting right here? Am I the only one that finds that really queer." Hanna catches the Freudian slip, rolls her eyes at the look Spencer gives her in response, and squeaks in defense, "Oh, you know what I mean. Focus people! She could have been kidnapped and that is a fake letter."

"But it's her handwriting," Spencer retorts, "Nobody could have faked her style that precisely. What are we supposed to believe? That somebody broke into her bedroom window, forced her to write that letter, and then stole her away into the night, without waking her parents?"

Alison slams her hand down on the coffee table, causing the glasses resting there to shake and nearly fall off the edge. The girls jump and straighten their postures. "All of you, need to listen to me for a minute," she commands, tired of this bickering back and forth, in a voice that is still high strung. Hanna nearly peed her pants there. When Alison uses this voice, they know she means business.

When she does not immediately explain herself, Spencer is bold enough to ask, "What is it, Ali?"

Ali lets out a sigh and tries to remain stoic. "I think I know who took, Em. It's the only thing that makes all of this have any kind sense to it… Emily saying I asked her to run away with me, even though I never had that conversation with her." She pauses not wanting to speak these next words and sound like a crazy. All eyes burn into her, waiting for an answer. "It has to be Courtney," she divulges, trying to swallow but her mouth is too dry.

That name means nothing to the others, as they scrunch their faces in confusion. "Who's Courtney?," Hanna interrogates.

"My twin sister," Ali replies.


	3. Chapter III: Free of 'A'

_A/N: I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter up. Certain things in my life had me place it as a priority on hold. I hope you enjoy it. The one thing I do want to mention is that this story has been renamed to "The Runaways". It is less wordy than the old title._

 _Thanks for reading. Your comments mean the world to me_.

* * *

Alison nudges a sleeping Emily with the words, "Wakey, wakey." She is bent over the aisle seat, her long hair draping down in waves. She smiles a little at how gently the brunette is sleeping amidst all the raucous. She touches a hand to Em's cheek and runs her fingers up and down, tickling her soft skin. "It's time to wake up, Em," she coos, "Or else the driver's gonna take us back to Trenton." It only took about an hour and a half for the girls to make it to Trenton, New Jersey. Ali had to wake Em up in the dead of night for them to make the switch to the bus headed for Atlantic city. The driver graciously let them board the bus an hour before departure, as it was only sitting in the lot. Once inside, Emily was quickly drooling on the blonde's shoulder again.

Emily's eyes slowly crack open, as she yawns and squirms in the seat. "This isn't nearly as comfy as my bed," she croaks, "Where are we?" She squints at the sunlight breaking its way through the smudgy windows. The sun hangs barely above the horizon, so it cannot be much later than 6am. Everyone else on the Greyhound has gotten off, leaving only the driver looking at them impatiently, as he taps his foot.

"While you were busy drooling on my shoulder," Ali informs with a playful candace in her voice, "We arrived in Atlantic City." She spreads her arms wide, like she is revealing the showcase on the Price is Right and punctuates it with a "ta-da!" She pulls their suitcases off the seat and deploys their extended handles. "It's pretty early, so we might have to wait around a couple hours for check-in at a hotel," she says with a faux-pouty lip. It's been a good two years since she's been down here with the family. But, she vividly remembers how dangerous this place can be. When she was twelve, Jason promised Mom and Dad he'd look out for her as they roamed the boardwalk at night. Yet, he left her outside on a bench alone to talk to some hot girl at a body piercing shop. This one old perv slid up next to her. He was too pushy with questions, too close, and eventually slid his hand up her leg. She screamed and luckily Jason came running. Wandering the streets in the early morning is not something she'd take as a first option, if there were many other choices. Defining traumas tend to stick in the psyche and haunt a girl.

"I was not drooling," Em protests once her cognitive faculties return to the light of day. She self-consciously wipes her mouth with her sleeve when the other girl isn't looking. Em grabs her suitcase and follows the DiLaurentis down the steps of the bus. "Maybe we should try one of those 24-hour diners," she proffers, glancing to-and-fro at the unfamiliar surroundings. There aren't a lot of people around, but there are a few cars already on the road, probably heading up north for a long commute to work.

"I think I remember a place," Ali says as she tries to find her bearings. She has never been good learning or following written directions, preferring to go by sight. "It's on the waterfront, so we just have to head down and then… to the left… I think," Ali says and traps her tongue between her teeth, as if she were concentrating really hard to thread a needle. She scoops up the brunette's caramel hand as a seedy looking young-male passes them by on the sidewalk, starring at them for a little too long. "Stay close," she whispers behind her.

Emily rolls her eyes and shoots back, "I'm not one of those toddlers who needs to be led around the city by one of those hold-a-ring walking rope thing-ies." But, she is almost instantly smacking herself on the forehead. Why exactly is she fighting Ali wanting to protect her in this seedy beach city by holding her hand? This is what being a real couple must feel like. How amazing it would be to walk down the street hand-in-hand without the external pretext. For now, she will be satisfied with pretending, if only for a minute, that they are a real couple.

After a ten minute walk and the sight-seeing of some questionable characters, the two flop down in a booth seat, across from each other. The tiny imp on Emily's shoulder pushed her to sit on the same side with Alison, but the angel's advice for baby-steps won out. They are the only ones in the eerily quite diner; not even a waiter or fry cook taking a smoke. Em tilts her head and listens to the soft roar of the ocean waves crashing against the sandy shore outside their cracked window. If circumstances were more fortunate, she would probably be her uncontrollably bubbly self, torturing Alison about all the rides they can go on later. Seeing an old filipina waitress come through the kitchen doors reminds her of her mom.

The waitress takes her sweet time lumbering over to their table and places menus down in front of them. "Can I start you off with something to drink?," she asks, taking out a notepad from her apron. "Could I get a glass of orange juice?," Ali says respectfully in the form of a question instead of a demand. The waitress looks at Emily for an answer, but the girl is simply staring into space past Ali, so the blonde decides it is best to reply for her, "Ugh, she'll take a cup of oolong tea. And we both know what we want so can we just order now?" The waitress nods her head and Ali continues, "I'll have some French Toast with the mix of blackberries and raspberries, and she'll take the Belgian Waffle with a heavy portion of powered sugar, and with a side of bacon and scrambled eggs." The waitress clicks her pen when Ali remembers, "Oh and make sure you get her chocolate syrup for her waffle."

As the waitress is already leaving to tell the cook their orders, Emily blurts out, "What?" Her eyes dart between the retreating waitress and Ali's face. "You were caught up in your own head again," Ali informs her. Emily scans over the menu making sure there is something on it besides gruel while her shoulders drop from mental exhaustion. "Don't worry. I know what you like," Ali punctuates with a wink, hoping it will lift the other girl's spirits.

Emily still looks like she is a million miles away, or maybe just a couple hundred back in Rosewood. Alison taps the other girl's knuckles. "Wishing you woke up in your own comfy bed this morning?," she inquires rhetorically, fully knowing the obvious answer. Ali would be lying if she said she didn't feel a twinge of sadness upon waking up to a bus aisle instead of her cosy bed, with its mounds of fluffy blankets, but having Emily curled into her side, helped a little to push that pain back down into the unconscious.

The brunette shakes her head from side-to-side, methodically swirling the straw round and round in the complimentary glass of water. "No," she slowly mutters, "I wish life was more forgiving and that this choice wasn't a necessity. I wish both our parents… understood us better and…"

Ali smiles sheepishly at the depressed Emily. "I'm sorry, my darling. I know it sucks," she coos as she leans forward, "But none of that matters. You've got me and I'm gonna make sure you have the time of your life on this trip. This is not going to be a trail of tears. We don't need anybody else because we've got each other." This earns a small grin from the sullen girl. "You see," Ali continues the effort to rally her spirits, "You're so much cuter when your smiling, even if pouty Em is also adorable." Emily cannot hide the bright red blush that is spreading across her cheeks. Ali kindly ignores it and presses on, "You know! There's this steel pier down by the Taj Mahal and it has all kinds of wicked rides. Maybe we can head over there tonight after dinner."

The words rolling off Alison's tongue are like a fairytale come true to the brunette's lovesick ears. She knows her so well; knows exactly what to say to chase the dark clouds away. Emily cracks a small goofy smile at the thought of Ali and her on the rollercoaster. Does she always speak this way? Sometimes, she imagines every word is filled with secret nuance, every glance carries the same weight as a kiss. When she looks into those big blue eyes that appear to hold such affection, she can't help but hope. Maybe this is a Godsend. Maybe this hell is all part of some Divine plan for the two of them. Or maybe she just brings God and fate into the mix because she cannot bare to believe Ali is just another straight girl who can never return her strange, unnatural feelings.

The waitress brings them their orders and leaves them with a friendly, "Enjoy." Em looks over all the items and grins from cheek to cheek. It is the first full smile in a while. Ali catches notice and pesters, "What're you smiling all happy about over there?"

Emily says a little prayer over her food, and makes the sign of the cross, whispering the word, "amen" at the end. She lifts her eyes with her head still bowed, "How did you know exactly what I wanted for breakfast?"

"Oh, that's because I'm a wizard," Ali quips taking a bite of her blackberries, "My magic want is packed away in the suitcase, but I can still work a little magic without it." Em shakes with laughter as she drizzles the chocolate syrup evenly over her waffle.

A little later in the morning, after a hearty breakfast, the two girls arrive at the massive lobby to Caesars Palace. The sheer scale of this place has Emily's jaw dropping. Every room is like an amphitheater. You can even hear an echo in this space. Alison taps Emily on the back of the hand and instructs, "Wait here while I get us a room."

"Why can't I come with you?", Emily piques. She glances at the hectic people all around her, feeling both exhilarated and overwhelmed at the same time. Ali thinks for a moment, pursing her lips, but then nods her head, letting the filipina follow her to the front desk. A teller is free, not too many people checking in at eight in the morning. Before they are within earshot of the desk, Ali says behind to Em, "Just stay silent or play along. They won't let a 15-year-old buy a hotel room, so we have to pretend."

Ali rests her elbows on the countertop and is greeted by the friendly face of a twenty-something bubbly looking girl with the name tag "Brianna" pinned to her blouse. Peering over the desk, she also notices a series of Mean Girls bobble heads, which she cannot help but silently judge. "Hi Brianna," Ali says in her fake cheery voice, "Do you have an ocean front room available? I know it is awfully late to book such a top notch room, but my friend here hasn't been to the ocean in such a long time, I was really hoping there might be one available for a night. I totally spazzed on the reservations and this was supposed to be the best trip ever, and now I feel like I am screwing everything up for her."

Brianna types a few strokes into the keyboard and takes a brief look at Emily, before focusing back on the monitor. Ali peeks back at Em wistfully, but almost immediately the desk clerk informs them, "We do have one left in the centurion tower, but it is only a king-sized bed, is that okay?" Ali answers affirmatively without asking Em's preference, not that she would complain. "Now there's just the matter of payment," Brianna continues, "But before that, I hate to ask this, but you two look really young, so I need to see some ID."

Alison feigns a chuckle and tells the clerk, "You know, this happens to me all the time. I can't get rid of this babyface." She shakes her head as she reaches into her wallet and pulls out the driver's license, handing it over. Emily squirms atop her legs, her throat suddenly dry at the thought of being caught. What happens then? Would they be taken into the police station? Will the cops know they are runaways? Are they going to be thrown into a cell with drunks and prostitutes? Living on the edge is not fun. It's horribly stressful. All those panicked thoughts evaporate when Ali runs her fingers up and down her forearm, intuitively sensing the tension running through the brunette's nerves.

"I know what you're thinking," Ali goes on the offensive, preempting any concerns, "I am so much cuter with blonde hair." The clerk glances up and smiles as she scrutinizes the ID a little further. "Shay here," Ali says gesturing back to Em, "Came up with the brilliant idea that I should be a blonde, and I haven't looked back since."

"All right, Miss Darkbloom," Brianna announces hitting a few more key strokes, after she hands back the fake ID, "All you need to do now is pay. How would you like to do that?" Ali slaps two hundred-dollar bills on the counter.

Another minute or so and they have their key cards in hand, genially walking to the elevators to find their room. A hotel bed is going to be so much softer than a bus seat tonight. Emily ventures to ask, "What's Darkbloom and why the heck did you fake name me Shay for?", loud enough to be audible but not loud enough for the security guard standing in the corner to overhear.

Ali presses the elevator button with her knuckle and folders her hands, swaying back and forth. "Vivian Darkbloom is an anagram of Vladimir Nabokov," she says as if that is supposed to mean something to Emily, but the other girl's face just looks perplexed and strained. Ali sighs and says, "Nabokov is the old Russian guy who wrote _Lolita_. God, Em, you need to pick up a book sometime."

"Hey," Emily protests, shifting on her feet to face the blonde, "I do read a lot. I just never read that particular book. My collection of literature is probably larger than yours. Just because I don't read boring old Russian…"

"And," Ali interjects loudly to let Em know they are shifting topics without discussion, "Shay is a very beautiful name. Maybe even almost as pretty as Emily." The swimming star puts on a pouty face in return. The elevator doors open. "Almost as pretty," Ali confirms, waving her hand gently through those long dark locks. A short shiver shakes Em's body when Ali's hand brushes the patch of naked skin on her neck. She tugs on Emily's elbow and leads her into the elevator. Alison quickly peeps at the receipt to remember the room number: L16, Room Number 23.

The elevator doors open and the two girls crane their heads left and right to figure out which way their room lies. Emily points down the hall to the right and declares, "The numbers are going up to 23 this way." Ali follows her down the hall to Room #23 and waits for Em to open the door, taking her wheely suitcase from her. On the first try, the light blinks red. Emily groans and tries it again, this time successfully making it turn to green.

Emily opens the door for Alison, standing to the side and letting her go first. "My lady," she tries to say confidently, but it comes out all clumsily. Alison does not appear to take note and slides into the room. Em mouths "darn" to herself and lightly taps a foot in frustration for being such a buffoon. "Okay, Emily," she says to herself, "You have her being all touchy-feely and totally sweet today, don't mess this up by being such a stupid loser."

The blonde parks the suitcases next to the bureau and and drops them on their sides. She smiles at the brunette and falls back into the bed, feet reflexively kicking up in the air. She giggles and props herself back up on her elbows. "I can't believe that we're finally here," she squeals to Em, "It feels so good to be free. It feels so great not to be worrying that something bad is gonna happen 24/7." Her lips part as if to speak another sentence, but she fears she has said too much already. Emily still believes this is really about her parents shipping her off to military school, and she needs to keep it that way. What would happen if the filipina found out the truth? Would she want to go home? Well, the bridge with her parents is pretty much already burned. Thanks to her lies. Would she hate Ali for tricking her? Or would she follow Ali like a lost puppy no matter what cruel machinations she cast against her? Emily should really stand up for herself more, she muses.

Emily shyly keeps her distance from the bed, not sure if she should jump on it beside her friend and celebrate, or if that proximity, bare arms touching, will be too much for her to handle. But, Ali does not let her stew in the conundrum for very long. She pats the bed beside her and motions for Em to join her. Emily nervously tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and hesitates before returning an apprehensive smile. She staggers over and stiffly takes a seat on the edge, her back straight as a board. Ali sits up and gently pulls her back down with her.

"You're too tense, Em," Ali tells her softly, the tiredness finally showing in her voice, "I know how difficult this is for you. And I just wanna let you know that I am sorry." Alison wraps her arm around the brunette's shoulders and gives her a little squeeze. "I should never have asked you to run away with me. That wasn't fair." Em stares up at the ceiling soaking up the words, not sure of how to reply anymore. "You could have come out to your parents on your own time," Ali continues. "I'm sorry for being selfish, but for some reason I still can't explain to myself, I couldn't bare the thought of leaving without…", she trails off, biting her bottom lip, "But I also wanna thank you for saying 'yes' You didn't have to, but you did, and that means a lot to me." She tilts her head to look at Em.

"You don't owe me an apology," Emily murmurs, but is afraid to face the DiLaurentis girl. She can feel her hot breath cascading off her arm. Each breath is a heavenly torture. "You were only trying to help," she says earnestly, "You've been nothing but perfect to me, actually." A rosy tint moves across her cheeks with the word 'perfect.' She finally summons the courage to shift her head to meet Ali's gaze. They stare into each others eyes for a few breathless moments. "Why are you being so perfect to someone like me?," Em beseeches those big blue eyes.

"What?," the vixen taunts the other with a dopey smirk, "Are you saying that I'm normally not that nice?" Em simply wines the blonde's name, begging her to be serious and honest for once in her life. "Who else would pick up and leave their whole life for me?," Ali replies no hint of sarcasm left in her throat, "You're the only one, Emily Fields. God didn't make another one like you." Ali leans in and places a tender kiss on Em's round cheek.

Alison rocks herself up and off the bed, suddenly exhibiting a newfound burst of stamina. She grabs the remote off the nightstand and turns on the television. She switches the channel to the VOD feature and says to Emily, "I have to go out for a little bit and take care of a few things." She swipes Em's phone off the nightstand and stuffs it in the front pocket of her hoodie.

Emily pushes herself up against the pillows and challenges, "Where are you going with my phone?" She really doesn't want to be in this strange hotel room, with its foreign walls, its alien furniture, and its unfamiliar ceiling. She has never been far away from Rosewood on her own before. She always had her Mom and Dad to protect her, or at least one of the girls to lock elbows with to dispel some of the frightening silence.

"It's nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, Em," Ali answers still working her way through the VOD list of movies, "It's only some logistics I have to work out. Boring stuff that you're better off not knowing." She finds the item she wanted to on the movie list and twists around back to Emily. "Look, just stay here, relax and watch the new _Revenge of the Fallen_ , Transformers movie you keep telling me you wanted to watch." She presses "buy" and the opening credits begin to roll. "I will be back before you know it," Ali assures, "Oh, and order room service if you want a snack or something."

Emily simply stares at Ali as she walks out the door. She looks up at the movie playing on the screen and sighs a heavy sigh. Ali promised she would watch this with her.

Alison makes her way back down the elevator and wanders until she finds the wing of the hotel with all the gift shops. She passes many storefronts by until she finds one which sells phones. No one else is in the store except some posh, blonde girl with a white tunic, "NYC" written in calligraphy on the front. Alison gives her a friendly nod before walking up to the glass counter and placing Emily's and her phones on the top. Before the salesman can get a word out, Alison ejects, "I need a pair of the iPhone 3GS with the data plans, the unlimited calling, unlimited text, all the works." She pulls a piece of paper out of her jeans pocket and unfurls it on the countertop. "I want you to transfer all the data from these two to the new ones, but I want new numbers for them. And I want you to send the bills to my address back in San Francisco here," she says pointing to the paper. She shifts her eyes to the left case behind the counter and points to an item, "And can I get a few of those burner phones?"

The salesman smiles a little too leeringly, nods and tells her, "Wow, it's nice to see a girl so direct, who knows exactly what she wants." His eyes are fixed on her.

He cannot be much older than eighteen or nineteen. He is quite easy on the eyes, but his forwardness is totally unwanted today. "Don't get cute," she spits at him, "The other phone is for my girlfriend, so how about you keep it in your pants, or I am gonna report you to your manager for sexually harassing me. Got it!?" The sales boy swallows stiffly and nods his head in complicit agreement.

With her new phones in hand, she makes her way to a quiet nook in the corner of the hallway. It is still very early in the day and luckily not that many people are around. Not that anybody here will care what she is about to say, but old habits die hard. Alison has gotten used to continually looking over her shoulder, as if A, or one of A's minions were magically behind her at all times. Ali scrolls through her contacts and touches the name, "Ian Thomas." She punches the phone number from the regular cell into one of the burners and hits the green call button.

The phone rings a few times before Ian picks up, "Who is this?"

"Your worst nightmare, boy-toy," Alison jeers into the receiver, trying to toughen up her posture, so that her whole body can mimic the confident swagger of voice she is attempting to perform. Arrogance is not something that comes automatically to the DiLaurentis. She has to put on the mask time and time again; play the role, over and over. It is bliss, those small moments when she doesn't have to pretend, but when she can truly be honest.

"Why are you calling me from an unregistered number, and what the hell do you want?," Ian barks through the other side of the phone.

"You're not gonna be seeing me for a while," Ali states matter of factly but with a small growl to let him know that she means business, "But I want you to know that I still have your home movies. And that I can turn them in to the police whenever I want. I want you to know that you have an axe hanging over your head. The existence of your pervy little N.A.T. club is totally in my hands." Ali takes a pause from the torrent of words, and can hear the heavy breathing of the neighborhood pedophile. He says nothing. "If anything happens to my friends," Ali threatens, "I swear if so much as a hair on their head is missing, I'm coming after you. And you're gonna spend the prime years of life rotting in a tiny jail cell without so much as a glance of a pretty girl. Got it?"

"I got it," Ian mutters in defeat.

"Good," Ali says pointedly, "Then this we be the last time you hear from me." She is about to press the red end button, but returns the phone to her ear, "Oh, and by the way, I hope you and Melissa do get married. You two deserve each other." Before he can retort, she slams her thumb on 'end', and taps the phone on her wrist. "Thank God, that is over," Ali thinks to herself, "Now I never have to worry about 'A' again." Whichever member of the N.A.T. club is actually 'A' has no reason left to make her disappear.

Ali tosses the burner phone into the nearest trash bin and turns on her heel back to the room. She also has trouble with the magnetic keycard, but after a few tries, it grants her access. "I'm back Em…" she begins to say, but clamps her mouth shut when she notices a snoring Emily curled up on the bed. She lets out a scoff. It's only been a little over a half-hour since she left. Is the _Transformers_ sequel really so terribly boring? All the stress must have her exhausted. She grabs the remote from the brunette's loose grip and press the power off. Ali reaches over and pulls the covers more fully on top of Emily. "You're the only one who won't ever leave me, won't ever disappoint me," Ali whispers to herself, "Aren't you, Em?"

The blonde walks quietly on cat's feet over to her suitcase. She takes her sweet time unzipping it, and succeeds in pulling out the one book she packed, Charles Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_. She twists it around in her hand for a moment, flipping between the front and back covers, before she shuffles over to the chair on the opposite side of the bed. It is close enough to the mattress that Ali rests her feet on the edge of the heaps of covers currently ensconcing Emily. She flips open to page one, but watches Em's chest breath in and out a few repetitions before brining her eyes back down to the text.


	4. Chapter IV: Open Grave

_A/N: I am not totally happy with the way this chapter turned out, but it is nice to move away from writing the "Emison fluff" and return to the mystery. Spalison is wicked cool to write for. Let me know how you feel about the chapter by leaving a review, if you please. They warm my heart. Give me your theory on which Alison you think is the real Ali._

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Spencer strolls down the dark streets of Rosewood at two in the morning, headed for the DiLaurentis house. All the lights have gone to bed along with their owners, leaving only the eerie clacking of her black suede buckle boots. "I should have worn quieter shoes," she mumbles to herself. The only other soul still fully conscious on Grovewood boulevard is a white Persian cat, who watches Spencer from across the street, occasionally licking himself in between stares. The night is cold and a slight fog hangs in the air. You can still see pretty far into the distance, but eventually the world disappears into the white mist.

The Hastings girl hurries the pace, and rounds the corner to the street she shares with Alison. As she nears the home, she steps a little more cautiously, trying not to let the heels hit the ground with such force, and wake up the Mister and the Misses. Just as Spence is about to turn the front door nob, a flashlight shines in her eyes from the side of the porch. She turns to find Ali starring at her with an unimpressed grimace. The blonde is not wearing her usual flowery and flowing attire, but a practical plain pink t-shirt and gray hoodie, with a sensible pair of jeans.

Ali pulls the hood off her long blonde hair and quips, "You had to wear those boots? You couldn't have worn quieter footwear? I could hear you coming from all the way down the block." She reaches down on the rocking chair and zippers up a small black duffle bag, handing it to Spencer.

"I'm sorry," Spence whines in a voice that is barely a whisper, "I've never done this before. I don't automatically know what shoes to wear for a caper." She unzips the bag Ali gave her, and peaks inside, spotting with the dim porch light shining down on what looks like a small crowbar and a pair of back-up flashlights.

Ali reaches behind the rocking chair and comes back up with a pair of shovels in both hands. "It's not a caper, Spence," Ali corrects in an emotionally tired tone, "We're desecrating someone's grave." The regular self-confidence in her demeanor is no longer present ever since Emily went missing this morning. Playful mastery of the situation has been replaced with annoyed frustration. Alison is no longer this mythical being. She has fallen to earth, so ordinary, so human. No more glowing skin like Moses off the mountaintop. "So, I take it the other girls aren't coming?," Ali asks, fully knowing the answer.

"I just came from Aria's but she was too scared to sneak in the cemetery. She looked like she was about to pee her pants," Spencer tries to defend the other girls, "Hanna wouldn't even answer my texts she's so frightened." The blonde nods her head in disappointed acceptance. "Can you blame them Ali?", Spencer expresses a little too loudly, "I'm not even sure we should do this. I mean, this is highly illegal, like cops, sirens and handcuffs illegal. Can't we just tell the police and have them do this?"

"Are you backing out on me?," Ali snaps at the slightly taller brunette, dropping the shovels to the floor, "Don't wait till we're standing over my sister's grave. If you're gonna run away like a scared little girl, then do it now." Ali ferociously snatches the duffle bag from Spencer's weak grip. "I'll save Em myself," Ali growls, her eyes burning holes into Spencer's, "I guess I was wrong. I really can't count on you guys when it comes down to it." Ali turns on a heel down the porch, but Spencer quickly jumps out in front of her.

"Ali, Ali," Spence shouts, "That's not what I'm saying." She places her hands, palms out, in front of Alison to stop her from leaving, determination in her eyes. "We're all just scared, okay. We're only fifteen for God's sake. We should be worrying about dates to the dance and broken fingernails, not kidnappings. I don't even know how to process this. Can we just take a second?" Spencer runs her hands through her hair in frustration, pushing it back briefly in the shape of a ponytail. But, she picks up the shovels in a show of continued solidarity with the mission at hand.

"You don't think I'm scared too?," Ali says much more softly, "I'm freaking terrified, okay?" She bites her lip trying to hold back the tears that are forming in her eyes. Spencer places a comforting hand on her elbow to physically demonstrate her understanding. "So, yeah, I'm worried about getting in trouble for breaking into a cemetery," Ali shrugs, "But I'm a hell of a lot more scared for Emily. We have to find her." The blonde's eyes are pleading the other girl, now—no more fury, only fear.

Spencer quickly gives Ali's hand a reassuring squeeze, "We're gonna find her. I promise. And things will go back to exactly the way they were before. The five of us against the world. Hastings don't lose. It's biologically predetermined in our blood."

With a sad smile from Alison, the two girls head off down the road, one carrying the shovels, the other the black duffle bag. One car passes them by on an adjacent street, but the town of Rosewood is almost dead at night. Unless Noel Khan is throwing one of his famous parties, most do not stay up past midnight, especially on a school night. And, classes start in only six hours. Great! It looks like Spence and Ali are going to be chugging caffeine to compensate for the lack of sleep. Even if they make it back before four, there is no way any sleep will come after grave robbery. This event will be giving them nightmares for weeks to come.

After a few minutes walking down the twisted roads in peaceful silence, Spencer proffers her voice to ask the one question everyone has been dying to know the answer to, "Why didn't you ever tell us you had a twin sister?" Ali had given the girls the mere fact that she has a secret twin named, Courtney DiLaurentis, and that she was potentially dangerous and that the poor girl was dealing with a whole host of mental problems. No details were mentioned to the three, nor any motivation for why Courtney would want to abduct sweet, innocent Emily. How was Emily connected to this at all?

Alison takes a few more strides without speaking, before she pauses her gait and shyly twists her head to look only at the other girl's shoes. "I thought she was dead," Ali coos resuming slow steps forward, "I loved her, but she was... was... not safe to be around. She suffered from an unstable personality disorder: violent outbursts, sick fantasies." Ali reaches into her front pocket and pulls out a picture in almost perfect condition, giving it over to Spencer. It shows the two twin sisters, not much older than nine, hugging and laughing with bright smiles. "So you know I'm not the crazy one making this whole tale up," Ali comments, "I never told you girls about Court, because she died before we moved here. Before I met the four most important people in my life. Nine to twelve were some of the roughest years of my life, watching her self-destruct like that. It tore our family apart. Mom and Dad were fighting all the time on how to handle it. My Dad wanted her put into Radley Sanitarium for her own safety, but Mom thought that was too harsh a punishment. Dad won out in the end. Mom still thought disconnecting her from her family would only end badly, and the yelling never stopped. I just wanted to forget. I just wanted to forget it all, so I pretended to the world like it never even happened."

"Did it? End badly? How did she... die?", Spencer continues the questions cautiously, heart breaking inside upon learning Ali's tortured and shadowed past. Maybe that is why Alison constantly prevents even her best friends from getting too close? Why Alison has built a castle wall with a moat full of alligators around her true soul and rarely showed the slightest glimmer of weakness.

The brilliant blonde swallows and clears her throat before responding, clearly choked up, "On our, um, twelfth birthday, the staff at Radley granted her a temporary day pass to celebrate at home. She was showing marked improvement and they thought it would be all right. Everything was perfect. It was so good to celebrate our birthday together like we used to when we were kids. She was happy. She was different. I thought that I was finally gonna get my other half back, you know? We were inseparable from birth until my parents sent her away from me. But that night when I went to tell her to come blow out the birthday candles with me, I pushed open the door to our room with this stupid smile beaming across my face, all in dorky anticipation, and I found her collapsed on the floor with an empty bottle of prescription meds."

Spence is lost for words. The vivid details with which Ali recounts her own traumatic childhood is almost too horrible for language to properly convey. She tugs on Ali's arm and gets her to stop walking. Spencer leans in and locks her arms around Alison like she never wants to let go. "I am never gonna yell at you again, or say anything bad ever again," Spencer promises in the heat of the moment.

"It's okay," Ali replies, "It was a long time ago, and I made my peace with it." She withdraws from the pitying arms of the other girl and rolls her eyes, "Or, at least I thought I did."

"But this doesn't make sense, if Courtney killed herself," Spencer critiques, not quite sure how to wrap her brain around this deeply disturbing mess of a life, "Then how is it possible you think she is the one who kidnapped, Emily?" She taps her foot on the asphalt and adds, "Ghosts aren't real and they sure don't abduct people."

"Because I didn't see her die," Ali defends her crazy conspiracy theory, "When we took her to the hospital, she was still barely alive. Her vitals were fading, but when they rushed her into the emergency room, nobody else was allowed in. My parents were so numb to her through all the hell of the last year, that they didn't even go in to see the body. Frankly, they were kind of relieved it was all over. They just spent their energy consoling me." Ali looks up at Spencer with big sad eyes, "She died for them a long time ago."

The brunette studies her like she does not quite believe her. "It's the only possibility, Spence," Alison pleads with her, "It is the only way short of someone taking my DNA and cloning me that Emily could have thought she was running away with me, when I'm standing right in front of you." She motions with her hands to present the corporeality of her body, "I don't wanna believe it any more than you do, but it's the least absurd of all possibilities right now."

"But why Ali?," Spender returns, a little flustered herself, expressing all her emotions through flailing motions, "Why would Courtney even care about Emily? How would she even know about her? Why would she even risk all of this to run away with Em? It doesn't make any sense."

"Courtney suffered from paranoid delusions," Ali defends, imitating an explosion of her brain with both hands, "She pretended to be me all the time to the point where she actually convinced herself that she was the real Alison sometimes. Imagine how you would feel if you were the one twin who had to be locked up for years in the nuthouse. You'd probably identify with your twin also. You'd probably wish that you were the other twin. Who wouldn't, and with her psychoses, which were never fully contained by the antipsychotic drugs by the way, it makes sense." Alison raises her voice again, to the point where a house light turns on at the commotion, "She could have been watching us for the last couple years. She could have been watching our every move. She could have even seen Emily and I making out at the kissing rock or wherever. Without her medication there is no telling what she is capable of."

Spencer takes her hands and gently places them on Ali's shoulders. "Calm down, okay, you're going to wake the whole neighborhood," she soothes.

Ali violently shakes Spencer off of her and shouts back in an even louder voice, "No, you need to start freaking out! As much as I love her, Courtney is a ticking time bomb. And she could really hurt Emily. I mean she could accidentally kill her, Spence." Ali's hands are shaking violently from all the emotional energy coursing through her, "Let's just get to the cemetery, prove that I am not crazy, and then find them before something happens that we can't undo." She storms off toward the cemetery, not looking back, with Spencer in hot pursuit calling after her to no avail.

Alison makes it to the tall, harrowing gates, before Spencer can catch up to her. She places the duffle bag on the pavement and fumbles around inside it before pulling out a small but sturdy pair of bolt cutters. The brunette finally huffs and puffs all the way up the path, bending over to catch her breath. Ali ignores her and after some struggling, manages to break the small lock with the lucky pair of red and black bolt cutters. She peals the lock off the gate and tosses it in the bushes. The entire cemetery is fenced in, so it is either climbing over the twenty foot wall or breaking and entering. The latter seemed much less dangerous. Ali pushes the gates open sending a shrieking whine from the hinges across the dark expanse of land. A gargoyle on the top of a large sepulcher watches the two little girls as they step foot into the abode of the dead.

"My God," Spencer quips sardonically, "All this place needs is a sign, 'Abandon all hope ye who enter.'" Yet, Ali is not paying much attention to what the brunette is babbling. Spence checks her left and her right, and behind every few seconds, as if a monster were ready to spring out at them any moment. Sadly, the only monsters are those who come formed in the Image of God. But, try being perfectly rational in a graveyard at three in the morning."You remember where Courtney is buried?" This earns her a simple nod from the queen bee, who points their way down the path to the right.

As they pass countless tombstones, Spencer mouths the names and dates carved into the rock. Thankfully, most of the inhabitants died at a nice old age. The ones which read "beloved child" she passes over without mumbling the name under her breath. Her boots are even louder here, with the echo reflecting off of the high mausoleums. Ali tries to lighten the mood, and jokes, "Heh… your boots might actually be loud enough to wake the dead. If we find ourselves in the middle of a _Resident Evil_ filmin a few minutes, I'm never gonna let you live it down."

Spencer lets out a pitiless chuckle, "You're such a boot bully."

Alison freezes in her tracks and Spencer stops short, coming up right beside her. "It's right over here," Ali points reminiscent of the Ghost of Christmas Future, "If I remember correctly. I haven't visited in a couple years. I guess that makes me a terrible sister, huh, but it was so much easier to leave the past buried, no pun intended." It is almost as if the tombstone rises up out of the ground to greet Spencer in a total Alfred Hitchcock effect. "Well, I guess there's only one thing left to do," Ali announces. She takes one of the shovels from the Hastings, making a hasty sign of the cross, before breaking ground.

Spencer takes a deep breath before plunging her shovel into the wet earth. Load after load of dirt is scooped out lowly but surely by the two girls, trying not to get caked in dirt themselves. "What do we do if we open this up and your sister's body is in there?," Spencer muses equally to Ali as to herself.

"Well, then we will have broken into and defiled my sister's grave for nothing and have to live with that decision for the rest of our lives," Ali retorts, throwing a heap of earth a little too close to Spence, "But it'll also mean we have no freakin' idea what happened to Emily, where she could possibly be. We'll have nothing to find her with."

"And what if you're right," Spence finishing asking the other side of the question, "What if there's no body in the casket?"

"Then, my sister is alive," Ali says terribly matter of factly, resting her elbow on the shovel handle, and taking a brief respite from the manual labor of digging with this petite shovel, "And she has our Emily." Spencer keeps on digging, glancing up periodically to let Alison know she is still keeping her attention. "Look," Ali says as if casually confessing her sins to a priest over coffee, "I know I'm a bitch most of the time. I am so far from the perfect friend to you girls. But I want you to know, that if it came down to it, I'd choose you over her." Spencer ceases the sacrilegious activity and stands up to search Ali's soul through her wobbly pupils. "I'm not going to let her take all of you away from me one at a time," Alison continues, "I am not going to let her hurt the one girl I… the one girl I've ever been crazy about. I love Court, but if she hurts you girls, I will do whatever it takes, even if it means…", she trails off not wanting to admit she might be forced to put down her own sister if she became uncontrollably violent.

Alison takes up the shovel one more time and strikes it into the ground. She hits something solid. The two girls look at each other in disbelief. "Are we really gonna do this?," Spence questions one last time, "No going back, I guess." Ali bravely goes first, jumping the step down into the hole. Spencer hesitates, but then skips down next to Alison, helping her to clear off some of the dirt still on top of the casket. She stands back as Ali takes the crowbar and begins prying the lid open.

Something snaps and Ali begins clawing at the edge. With a series of grunts, Ali forces the lip up, pulling it back as she stands. Spencer gasps in horror at the sight. There is nothing in the casket except an envelop with the names "Spencer Hastings" and "Alison DiLaurentis" scribbled on the back. The girls exchange a panicked glance, before Ali bends over to pick up the card. She undoes the old-timey sealing wax and removes the card inside. In blood red letters it reads: "Sorry, Courtney's not here. Oh, where oh where has my little Court gone, oh where, oh where can she be? — Kisses, 'A'".

"Oh my God," Ali exclaims dropping the note to the empty tomb. Spencer protests for more with her shifting eyes, clearly not making the connection. "Courtney's 'A'," she explains but still detects the bewilderment on the brunette 's wrinkled brow, "I have been getting threatening notes ever since last years' Halloween. I brushed it off back then and I didn't tell you girls the truth, because I didn't wanna scare you over nothing. But, they were all signed 'A'". Alison shakes Spencer by the shoulders trying to physically force the words to sink in." The blonde twirls around, palms pressed to her forehead collecting all the thoughts rushing though her head. "She's been planning this all along," Ali continues ranting, "It all makes sense now. She was always jealous of you guys whenever I would come to visit and show her the pictures. She tried to scare me away with all these threats so she could replace me, steal my life, but it never worked. So she settled for taking Emily away in the only way she knew how."

The deafening sound of a flashing bulb from one of those postwar cameras reverberates across the night air. Then, the sound of a film reel comes into focus. The girls look too and fro around the cemetery in panic, and their eyes finally fixate on the projected image beginning to form on the side of one of the large mausoleums. The movie is still a dark, blurred image, but the giggles of children can distinctly be heard. The picture finally becomes intelligible as two girls hold each other's hands, smiling for the camera. "Happy birthday, Court," the one blonde says to the other, giving her a big kiss on the cheek. Spencer covers her mouth in shock. "We'll always be best friends," the young Ali affirms. The two of them chant the mantra together, "Sisters by chance, friends by choice."

Beep. Beep. Both Spencer and Alison's phones cry out. They shyly reach into their pockets to check the new text messages. They read them aloud in unison, "Play hide and seek with me, bitches. Come and find Em and me, or I will mutilate her. — 'A'". A picture is attached to the text, but Spencer is frozen in place, too afraid to open it. Ali summons the courage and hits the button. Both hold each other tight when the image loads, showing a picture of Courtney with her arm wrapped around Emily's shoulder. The girls look totally blissful and without the sinister subtext, it would be a perfectly darling selfie. "Oh my God," Spencer whispers to the darkness, "She definitely has her."

A popping sound booms from the distance and two canisters of teargas land at their feet. The white smoke quickly envelops them down inside the grave. Spencer adroitly drops to her knees to recover the note to keep as evidence, feeling inside with her hand. "Cover your mouth," Alison orders, tugging on Spencer's hand and lifting her up out of the open grave. The smoke burns their eyes and invades their lungs despite the attempt to protect them by pulling their shirts over their mouths. Spencer trips on a rock, but Ali turns back for her, lifting her back to her wobbly feet, shouting, "Come on." The two girls run as fast as they can out of the cemetery not bothering to pick up any of the tools left at the scene of the crime.

Once outside the gates, Spencer and Alison topple to the ground trying to catch their breath, even though each inhalation burns their lungs. "I can't believe Courtney is doing this to me," Ali cries, feebly swatting at the ground, finally allowing herself to fall apart, "How could she?" Spencer wraps herself around the blonde making sure she is not injured. In a much more mousey and timid voice, Ali continues, "this… this… she's going out of her way to hurt me this time, and I can't. Why is she doing this?" There are no answers the brunette could possibly give, so she settles for rocking the Dilaurentis back and forth. "It's like she wants to punish me for having you four in my life," Ali says sending chills across the other girl's skin.

Spencer grabs Ali's hand and pulls her into an erect posture. "We can't stay here," she declares, frantically eying all directions, "We can figure it out in a much safer place." Another smaller side gate creeks open, seemingly on its own. "Let's just say I believe you a hundred percent now," Spencer confesses, as a human-shaped shadow moves on the pavement, "We gotta go, now!" She drags Ali along with her, until they are both sprinting down the road, back towards home, as fast as they can manage together.


	5. Chapter V: Cotton Candy Mouth

_A/N: To Anthi, sorry it took so long, but the pure, Emison fluffiness of the latter half of the chapter will more than make up for it. Happy Thanksgiving to whatever soul happens to read this._

* * *

Emily ruffles the covers and flips from one side of the pillow to the other. She peeps her eyes open, and finds that the world outside the large picture window has gone dark. When did she even fall asleep? She picks up her head and the tv screen is black, no _Transformers_ movie playing like she remembers. Megan Fox was just changing out of her clothes last she can recall—a nice image to drift off to. Emily twists to see Alison sitting in the chair at the bedside diligently reading _A Christmas Carol_. Ali's eyes dart from the pages to the bed and the corner of her mouth curls into a wry smile.

"What time is it?," Emily asks, exhaling into her cupped palm to check on her breath, "How long was I asleep for?" She raises her torso and crosses her hands over her knees. Em's eyes cannot seem to find a clock present anywhere in the room. Alison places a red bookmark methodically inside the pages, and gently presses the book closed. Her eyes linger on Emily's form as if she is lost in space.

"It's a little after seven o'clock," Ali informs, shifting her seat from the chair to the edge of the bed, "You have been sleeping for nearly twelve hours. I guess you really needed the rest." There is no venom in her words. No hint of an ulterior motive lurking beneath the surface. The words themselves are fully present in their appearance. "What did you do all that time waiting for me?", Em queries, fluffing her hair back into some kind of reasonable shape. The blonde shrugs her shoulders and says, "You're looking at it. I won't say it was exciting, but if I had to watch anybody sleep for twelves hours, It would be you." Alison takes the iPhone resting on the nightstand and tosses it on the covers in front of Emily. "Here's your new phone," Ali announces, "That way nobody can track us through the old phones. I hope you like the blue casing."

Emily scoops the iPhone up in her fingers and flips it around. It is wrapped in a blue protector with a cartoon shark painted on the back. She smiles at the reference and Ali adds, "I figured since you can no longer swim with the team, this was the best I could do. And, it has all your old contacts in there, so you wouldn't think I'm going all James Caan's _Misery_ on you. But if you do call someone, just know that the police can trace it back to our location, and you'll have to switch phones again."

The brunette nods her head and thanks Ali, who responds with the tiniest of smiles. But that is not enough for Emily who leans over and wraps her arms around the smaller girl. "Thanks for the shark case," Em continues, "It makes me feel like a little piece of home is still with me." The expression on Alison's face drops to one of worried guilt. When the blonde doesn't respond, Emily begins rambling on to fill up the silence, "I'm gonna miss the water, though. It really does make me feel like a mermaid. There's nothing like the feel of the cold water hitting your skin on an early Saturday morning practice."

Alison pulls back and swings Em's hand in hers. "It's okay. You'll always be my mermaid," she purrs, "You must be hungry. I know I'm starving. Let's go grab some food, Arielle." She pushes off her hands and jumps to her feet, exhibiting a new burst of energy. "It might be late in November," Ali yells like she is giving a pep talk before the big game, "But it's still freakishly in the high 60s, and I wanna ride the rollercoaster with you." She punches the air with two lightening jabs, "And I definitely hope they have some funnel cake."

Emily bends down to tie the laces on her boots and stares up at the blonde's antics in amazement, "How can you be so energetic all the time and never miss a beat?" She inaugurates the iPhone for the first time placing it in the front pocket of her skinny jeans. It just about fits perfectly, though it is a little wider than her old slider. She hopes it doesn't make it look like she has a penis.

"Because I'm Alison DiLaurentis, bitches," Ali replies after a pause, all excitedly grabbing both of Em's hands and pulling her up off the bed, "Our lives are our own now. We don't have to be afraid of anything or anyone. We can do whatever we want. We can be whoever we wanna be without being afraid of what others might say. The world is your oyster Emily Fields." She points, tapping Em on the chest with the tip of her finger, "Are you gonna take a chance on what you really want out of life?"

A dorkish smile breaks across Emily's face, who is unable to keep glancing at the other's lips. She nods her head in agreement with the blonde, and declares, "Yeah, let's take on the world together." It was supposed to come out all confident and bold, but it still sounds like the classic shy and reserved Emily.

Alison giggles and bites her tongue, "Well, you gave it your best shot. You just have to face it. You'll never be a badass chick like me." She reaches down and takes the brunette's hand in hers, "I found this seafood restaurant that looks pretty cool at the far end of the building. It's supposed to have an august view of the ocean." Ali tugs on her hand and leads them both out the door.

It is a scary ride up the long escalator. Emily has had a fear of escalators every since she was a wee little thing. The control given to you by stairs is simply not present on an escalator. You are at the mercy of its pace. Em finds herself clutching up against Alison for protection from the villainous mechanical stairs. When Ali does not object or ridicule her for being a baby, Emily lets herself believe that maybe things could be different between them. She dares to believe for a moment that Alison might be able to return her feelings.

Safely at the top, it is not long before the two girls are seated at a booth right up against the window, gazing out at the black ocean. "Did you forget it was dark out and we couldn't see the ocean at night?," Emily taunts, getting a little bit of a flair back. Alison sticks her tongue out at the girl like a five-year-old and retorts, "The lights from the boardwalk are still pretty."

The waiter brings them their totally overpriced bowls of salad along with a communal plate of steamed clams and steamed shrimp. "Wow," Emily exclaims, "Even the appetizers are huge. How do they expect us to eat a main course after this all?" Ali cleans her hands off with a dab of purell, sharing some with Em, before popping a piece of shrimp into her mouth. "Well," Ali replies after chewing and swallowing all the food in her mouth like a proper gentlewoman, "We don't have to get a main meal. We can just fill up on junk food from the boardwalk. You know we're gonna eat a lot of it anyway."

"Funnel cake, cotton candy, churros," Emily lists off on her fingertips, her face straining to think of the fourth one.

Alison bends down off her chair and reaches down into the book bag she took with her. She comes back up with an orange bottle of pills, the kind you get from a prescription filled at the drugstore. She places one of the little white tablets on the palm of her hand and rolls it around by tilting her wrist. Emily's eyes catch sight of the pill in Ali's hand. Her eyes quickly move to the orange bottle and back again. "What are those?," she asks with concern in her voice. She squints her eyes to read the label. "A-se-na-pi-ne," she sounds out the technical mouthful, "Are you sick?"

Ali presses her lips into a flat line and shakes her head. She leans back a bit in her chair and divulges, "No, it's an anti-psychotic." Emily feels as if she is falling off the edge of the world, goosebumps spreading the full length of her arms. Suddenly the shrimp in her stomach become a lead weight. "Why are you…?", Em stutters, "I mean are you… Are you okay? When did…?" The poor girl looks as if she is about ready to have a heart-attack, so Ali cups her hands over Em's honeyed knuckles and squeezes ever so softly. "Em," she reassures, "I'm okay. You don't have to worry about me. Honest to God."

Emily is not satisfied with her desire to simply brush it off. She clenches her teeth and leans forward in the chair. "People who are okay don't have to take anti-psychotic medication," Em reminds the blonde, wanting to force more information out of her. A million thoughts rush through her head. Was this trip because Ali has a problem? Is she going to have a breakdown someday soon? Will she be able to live a normal life? Why hasn't she told any of us? She says a silent prayer begging that it is not as bad as it sounds, "Do whatever You want to me, but please don't hurt her."

"Em," Ali comforts, sounding as sweet as tree sap, moving from the opposite side of the booth to sit next to her, "I swear, I am not just saying that to make you feel better. I'm okay." Em's eyes are glassy and the anxiety is real inside them. Ali opens up her palm for the brunette to see the pill up close and realize it is not so terrifying. "I never told you girls, because I didn't want you to think I was different, that I was some kind of freak," Ali confesses, as she lets Emily take the pill between her fingers, "When I was still a little girl, I was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. Which means I suffer from a form of schizophrenia mixed with a mood disorder. Basically, I am prone to delusional thinking and my emotions can be horribly erratic. Tell me to stop if it's too much for you?"

"No," Em whispers, snuggling in a little closer to the damaged girl who now appears so small, "Keep going."

"When I was nine, my behavior became so bad that Mom and Dad locked me up in Radley Sanitarium," Ali continues, playing with the hem of Em's shirt, "They never even visited me. If you wonder why my parents and I never seem to be that close or get along, well, that's the reason." She takes a deep breath and finds Emily's hand, "I spent the next three years in that place. Dad eventually opened up a real estate office in Rosewood and after I was released, he decided to move the family here. I never spoke about it because I was ashamed and I wanted to leave my past behind me. Once I got the proper medication and psychotherapy, the schizoaffectivity came under control." Ali sniffles a little, re-living all these traumatic experiences from childhood, "Uh, that is why none of you ever noticed anything. It hasn't been much of a problem all these years as long as I keep taking the asenapine twice a day. I'm good." With those last two words, she smiles at Emily for reassurance.

Emily opens her hand and drops the tablet back into Ali's waiting paw. Alison places the pill on the tip of her tongue and drinks it down with a glass of water. She pushes her tongue back out to show Em that she actually swallowed it. "And in case you're worried," Ali says, tilting her head, "I didn't run away because I'm a schizo. That's not what this is about. I promise."

"You could've told us," Emily murmurs, "We would've understood." She has lost her appetite, overcome by distress. Nothing can happen to the girl who holds her heart. A world without Alison in it is unbearable to even countenance. It would be like if all the oxygen were taken out of the atmosphere and you were left gasping for air. Emily no longer regrets in the slightest becoming a runaway with Ali. Someone really needed to watch over her, if her parents don't even care about her well-being. Someone has to make sure she is all right. She should never be alone. She _will_ never be alone.

"I didn't want anybody to pity me," Ali reasons, stealing another clam off the plate, "I didn't want people to treat me like a schizoid freak. We all pretend to be tolerant, but we're all pretty little liars. If I tell people I was plagued by psychosis, every time I'd pick up a knife to chop vegetables, somebody would worry I was gonna to stab them. I don't wanna live like an outcast, a porcelain doll."

Emily places a butterknife in Ali's hand to make a point, "I won't ever be afraid of you." She rests her head on Alison's shoulder blade, but within a few moments she starts cracking up. "That would've been so much more meaningful if it was a real knife, instead of this stupid blunt thing." Alison skillfully twirls the butterknife in between her fingers, before she also starts chuckling uncontrollably. "You can always be honest with me," Emily informs, bumping up against her, "I'm never gonna judge you or think you're a freak. You are irrevocably my best friend, Ali. Nothing could ever change that."

Ali doesn't return to her original seat, but stays beside Em, ransacking the food from her plate. "Then prove it. Prove nothing's changed," Ali challenges with raised eyebrows, "I dare you to have the greatest night of your life with me at the steel pier. No coddling. Don't treat me like I'm made of glass. Let's just have fun like we always do."

Em's face manifestly displays her wariness, and she has to admit that she wants to treat Ali like a brittle piece of china. But she also knows how strong Ali can be. She's been through all this and she is still a thousands times fiercer than the demure swimmer. That's got to count for something. With such reassuring blue eyes, Emily ventures to trust the blonde, nodding her head, "Okay. I believe you."

Alison drops a hundred dollar bill on the table, before taking Emily's hand and pulling her back toward the escalators. Emily hesitates a moment before stepping on the mechanical contraption. "Be brave," Ali whispers warmly in her ear, "Place your arms out like _Titanic_ and make believe you're flying." Emily takes a deep breath and does exactly like Ali says. It is somewhat scary and somewhat freeing as she takes that first step. She feels a moment of freedom, like she is floating under her own magic. But, she makes the mistake of closing her eyes halfway down. Her vertigo kicks in and she loses her footing. She begins to fall forward, letting out small whelp.

The blonde's hands dart like lightening and wrap around Emily's body, holding her securely in place. She can feel the short, panicked breathes moving up and down against her. Ali rests her chin on Em's left shoulder, "You don't have to worry. I've got you. You don't have to be afraid. I'm here to catch you." Emily enjoys the protective embrace a little while longer, but ultimately has to break it off, carefully stepping off the escalator with a small hop.

The walk down the length of the boardwalk to the steel pier is long, but they take it at a leisurely pace, stopping in a few shops along the way. Emily keeps pausing to look at the hermit crabs, wishing she could adopt one, with Ali continually having to remind her that a life on the run is no place for a hermit crab. Ali hides her feelings that hermit crabs creep her out, not wanting to ruin the brown-haired girl's sense of wonder at the antics of those weird little creatures. Ali waits patiently, and lets the scent of the ocean air, mixed with the hint of boardwalk junk food, suffuse her senses.

For only fifty dollars, Ali purchases two all-night passes for the rides. Forgetting all her worries, Emily pulls her onto the nearest roller coaster and bounces up and down with excitement before getting into her seat. They are fastened into their seats by the carnie and they trade glances in anticipation as the coaster begins to roll forward. "I bet big bad Ali screams like a little girl on the way down," Emily teases. Ali snickers and retorts, "As if you don't dream about seeing me screaming." Suddenly, the scariest thing is no longer the hundred foot drop at the apex.

But the roller coaster eventually takes the plunge and in seconds, both are screaming their lungs out and giggling once it reaches the bottom. The park has a digital camera set up that takes your picture on the way down, which they offer to sell back to you upon exiting. Ali doesn't really want a ridiculous picture of her hair all blown out, mouth wide open like a moron, but catching the gleam in Emily's eyes, she knows she has to get it. She hands an Abraham Lincoln over to the photo boy and he lets Emily snatch the 8.5x11 out of his grasp.

"This is totally getting framed," Emily informs unable to keep the kooky grin off her face, "or... I know the exact spot for it on my post…" She pauses the sentence letting the realization set in. You're not going home again. It was especially hard leaving her poster board behind. Photos are crystallization of the past, so that you never have to lose it, but can keep them frozen forever. She took a few of the most precious photographs with her, but space in her suitcase was limited. So many great photos had to be left behind.

"Hey," Alison nudges with her elbow, "We're gonna make so many great new memories, you're going to need two giant boards to fit them all. Think of this as the first of many." She takes Em's hand in hers, both a little moist from the thrilling roller coaster. They walk around the pier for a little bit, taking in the sight of the piercing, flashing lights and the sounds of all the couples and families having so much fun. Ali pulls the brunette over for something to eat, getting in line for the funnel cake. They are a little too greasy for her tender stomach to eat a lot, but they are oh so delicious. She is a little jealous that Emily can eat all kinds of junk food and it never phases her.

They get one well-sized cake to share, with Alison only stealing a few bites here and there. Each of them also procure a fuzzy stick of cotton candy. Em's is blue and Ali chose the pink color. "You should've gotten pink too," Ali berates, "Just because you're gay doesn't mean you're not feminine." Emily takes an overly emphatic bite from her blue cotton candy and piques, "It's blue for swimming not a phallic blue." The blonde stops, and pulls Emily to stare over the railing with her at the dark waves crashing against the posts supporting the structure. There are so many barnacles plastered over each and every post. "Sometimes I like to close my eyes in the night, and let the rhythmic sound of the waves invade my body," Ali remarks.

The two stand in silence for a couple of minutes, contently chewing on their treats and watching a flock of seagulls doing some night fishing. "I miss them too you know," Ali says breaking the quietude, "My parents and the girls." Em cocks her head surprised at the revelation. The blonde girl rarely admits negative emotions, negating them and brushing them off in some way or another. "I am gonna miss Aria sneaking up on me with her camera," Alison professes as she grabs the corner of the funnel cake and rips off a small tendril, "I'll miss being able to talk nerdy with Spence about history, politics or philosophy, and I'm gonna miss Han sayin' the most outrageous things at the most inappropriate times. We really got lucky with this group of ours." She chases any misty eyes away by biting on the inside of her cheek.

Ali turns her back on the black ocean and declares, "Come on, let's go win something we can take with us." There is only a little bit of the cake left, and Emily squishes the remaining piece into her mouth, so that it fills up her cheeks like a squirrel with nuts. She mumbles something unintelligible. Ali takes the plate from her hands and throws it in the trash. Still not able to respond with words as she struggles to chew the mouthful, Em folds her hands into the shape of a heart. Ali tilts her head to the side and taps Emily on her puffy cheeks. Emily jolts back trying not to laugh at her shenanigans and end up choking.

"Come on, silly," Em says after she swallows all of the food and moves back over to Ali's side, linking their arms, "I am feeling feisty and I know I can win us a plushy animal somewhere." There is a booth filled with darling stuffed animals a few rows down. The two girls wander over there, stepping quickly to avoid being run over by some poser on a skateboard. The game booth is stocked with teddy bears, unicorns and a few different kinds of Pokémon. The couple already there strikes out, as the hipster dude casts a girly throw. His girlfriend just pats him on the back, "You tried your best, I don't care really," though is face still looks frustrated and mad behind his oddly oval glasses.

Alison snickers at their behavior and taps Em on the shoulder, "I bet she does care and if they're doing it tonight it'll only be pity sex to try to make him feel like a man again." Emily spits out the piece of cotton candy that was in her mouth, "I didn't want that image in my head." Being the perfect girl scout, Em waddles over and drops the wet piece of cotton candy in the trash receptacle next to the booth, not wishing to litter needlessly. Alison tugs at the edge of Emily's shirt, pulling her closer, and asks coyly, "What kinda images should we put in your head then?"

Emily swallows the lump in her throat and turns her attention back to the game, pretending she didn't hear that last remark, "Uh… so what're we gonna try to win here?" The game is a balloon dart board, where you have to pop three balloons in a row in order to win the prize.

Alison steps up to the counter and places a ten dollar bill down. "We should go for that cute white bear with the red heart around its eye over there," Emily chirps, pointing it out on the shelf. The carnie hands her seven darts, and tells her to take her time, that it is tricky. Alison studies the angle, curls one leg slightly back in the air and tosses the first dart. It misses. She throws the second one a little more quickly this time and it misses again. She groans in frustration, before throwing the next two in rapid succession, with no success. Emily steps forward and tells her, "Lemme try. I'm the athletic one." She hands Alison her cotton candy, and stretches from side-to-side, loosening up her shoulders.

"Yeah, but you're skill is swimming," Ali quips, "You haven't played a sport involving a ball since the beginning of middle school. At least I gave a go at field hockey for a little bit with Spencer." Nonetheless she steps back and let's Emily have her turn. She kind of wanted to show off and effortlessly win Em the stuffed bear. Whatever this dynamic between them is, Ali's pretty sure she is playing the dominant role and she doesn't want to appear weak in front of her. Emily looks up to her as if she can do anything sometimes. Alison doesn't want to lose the adoration of being Em's Supergirl.

"Field hockey doesn't count because you hit the ball with a stick," Emily reminds the fair-skinned girl, twirling the dart around in her hand, trying to get a feel for its weight, "Also, my Dad is in the army. When we used to go camping, he'd teach me how to throw a knife into the side of a tree." Emily takes up a professional posture like she really knows what she is doing and propels the dart forward with alacrity. A hit! The yellow balloon bursts asunder.

Ali's eyes go wide in amazement at how simple that was for the mermaid. Another dart flies through the air and strikes a red balloon this time. There are certain times when Em steals the spotlight and looks like the superhero. Ali remains star-struck every time Emily gets in the pool for the Sharks. She glides so confidently through the water, like she was born to swim. Ali could never commit herself to perfect such a skill, devoting hours and hours of each day. Emily owns the room when she competes. It is one of the few times their dynamic changes so drastically.

The blonde finds herself holding onto Em's other hand in anticipation of the final throw. Emily takes a deep breath and tosses it forward, popping the last balloon in the set. Ali lets go of her composure and squeals in excitement. Her body bounces up and down, "You did it! I can't believe..." The carnie hands Emily the bear with the heart around its eye, and she twirls back toward Alison. "Sometimes you're really amazing, you know that," Ali comments with pure unadulterated sweetness in her voice, which earns the worlds' biggest smile of triumph from the swimmer.

The carnie leans over the edge of the booth and advises Emily, "Hand it to her. When you step in and win a prize as heroically as that, you gotta give it to your girlfriend." The Filippina's face flushes with embarrassment, but Ali simply lets loose an ironic chuckle. Emily fumbles to make a coherent sound in reply, playing with the teddy bear's bow tie and stutters out the words, "Oh, we're... just... friends... not... uh...". She glances rapidly back and forth between Ali and the boy behind the counter.

Ali pulls Emily away to save her from further chagrin, giving the boy a knowing glance as they leave. They stroll over to a bench next to the Ferris wheel and sit down. Em keeps gnawing at her cotton candy as an excuse not to speak, but the stick runs out sooner than expected and now her tastebuds are overwhelmed from all the sweet flavor. Ali just watches the brunette with a smug expression on her face. Emily self-consciously wipes her mouth from the blue stains that the candy left, but her lips are hopelessly smurfed. She decides to be brave and hands the teddy bear out to Ali, "I actually did win it for you." She shifts her eyes as if to say whatever, "You left your stuffed animals collection behind, and I figure this could also be the first of many for you.

Alison shifts a little closer on the bench, brushing up against the other girl's legs. "You're horribly sweet, you know?" She puppets the white bear on Em's knee making him dance, trying to get a laugh out of her. "Thank you," Ali coos as her eyes shift between Emily big eyes and blue-stained lips, "I'll treasure it... I don't just watch out for you, you're always looking out for me... Killer." She whispers the last word in a husky growl.

Fear strikes the brunette as Ali leans in closer, so that she can feel the breath ricocheting off her already blushed cheeks. Alison touches the side of her face with one hand and places the other over her knuckles. "It's okay," she purrs as she strokes her cheek. Emily is frozen like a stone as Ali closes the distance and gently presses her lips against hers. It is soft, sweet and tender. She moves against her, and Emily still too frightened to kiss back, but her eyes drop shut, mirroring Alison. All the lights begin to blur around them and the world becomes a dizzying whirlwind. Ali finally breaks contact and pulls back to look into Emily's hazel eyes. She smiles warmly, bashfully tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and asks, "Are my lips stained blue now?"

All Em can do is nod cautiously, a timid smile starting form. Ali licks her lips trying to get the blue off, but it's not working. She takes Em's barren cotton candy stick from her and tosses it in the trash like she's making a jump shot. She claps her hands and shouts, "Guess you're not the only one with mad skills." Ali shrugs at Emily who is still a little shell shocked, and she feels a little guilty for freaking her out so much with that lingering kiss. "Maybe she doesn't love me as much as I imagined," Ali muses to herself. Either way, she tugs Emily up off the bench, "Come on, you dork. Let's go ride the Ferris Wheel."

They hand their tickets to the wheel operator and he lets them into the bucket. It is a tight, intimate space, but the breeze from the ocean offers soothing coolness. Emily sits cloistered up, with her knees together, her hands folded in her lap. Alison pokes her arm and ventures, "So you're not gonna talk to me all night now?" No response from the mermaid. Ali sighs and admits with a diffident, mousy voice, "I never would've kissed you if I knew you were gonna hate me for it."

The Ferris Wheel hums and creaks as it begins moving up into the air. Emily glances shyly at Ali who is starring out at the hotels along the boardwalk, visibly shaken in her confidence. They are almost at the top, when Emily suddenly leans over and turns Ali's head toward her, clumsily devouring her lips. Ali smiles against her cotton candy mouth and returns her zealous kisses, tilting her head and holding onto Em's long brown locks to deepen the kiss.


	6. Chapter VI: Game On 'A!

Spencer opens her eyes to the morning light pushing its way in through the curtains. She squints and struggles to pull her body into an erect posture, blocking out the direct sunlight with her closed fingers. The two girls did not mention any of the events of last night to any other soul, thinking it best not to worry either Aria or Hanna at this juncture—until they can figure out just what the hell is going on. Ali was too afraid to go home and sleep alone in her bedroom, so she slept over at her neighbors, curled up in the same bed with Spencer. Ali was too clingy throughout the whole night, but the brunette could not blame her. The poor thing has gone through so much. Spence is simply impressed that Ali is not rocking back and forth unconsolably in a corner somewhere.

"Ali, wake up," she mutters, patting the sheets on the other side of the bed. "Ali?," she questions when she doesn't feel another form sleeping beside her as there should be. She turns to find an empty side of the bed, the covers left all messed up. A crinkled note lays on the top of Ali's half-turned pillow. She quickly grabs it and pushes the hair out of her face to read what it says.

 _"I am going to go talk to my Mom and Dad and see if they know something that could help us. Be back soon and then we can decide exactly on what to do. — Ali"_

"We know what we have to do," Spencer says to herself, letting the note drop from her hand. She twists her legs off the bed and pads her feet over to the bathroom, hopping in the shower and brushing her teeth. Her head is pounding from the stress of last night. There isn't a lot of time to lose, but from the looks of it, Emily is safe for the moment, at least.

Once she is dressed in a sensible gray, long-sleeve top and a pair of dark jeans, Spencer opens up the bottom junk drawer of her dresser and tosses the worn-down pairs of socks and undergarments onto the floor. She peals away a false back to reveal two neat stacks of one-hundred dollar bills. Her parents always give her an allowance of five hundred dollars a month. She worried that if they knew she wasn't spending it all, but saving a good portion of it for a rainy day, they'd simply decrease her allowance. So she tucked it away for safe keeping. It is moments like these she is glad some of Ali's evil, devious side rubbed off on her.

She meticulously stuffs the money into the pocket of her deep pants pockets, and pushes her hands further into the sleeves, not stopping to see how she looks in the mirror as she normally does in the morning. Her hair is not even combed, and stray strands stick up all over the place. She hasn't left the house looking like this since she hit puberty; not even for the doctor's office.

Spencer bounces heavily down the steps, fully intending to leave without breakfast or saying "good morning" to her parents. She texts Ali on her sidekick on the way down, "I'm going to the store to get supplies, be back in about an hour or so. Feel free to wait in my room if you get back sooner. There're some candy bars stashed in top left drawer of my dresser if you need something to munch on." She is on the last step, ready to turn the knob and head out the door, when she catches sight of Melissa sitting on the couch. She freezes in her tracks.

"Melissa?," Spence ekes out awkwardly, "I didn't know you were home. Why aren't you in Philadelphia?" She takes the last step down and shuffles over to the couch, next to Melissa, but still too anxious to sit down.

Her sister reaches up and pulls Spence into a tight hug. "Mom and Dad told me what happened," she consoles in a worried voice, "Are you doing okay?" She pulls back to look into Spencer's eyes, searching them like watchtower guard trying to spot an escaped prisoner in the dark of night. "I couldn't believe it when Mom told me that Emily's been kidnapped, or ran way, or… I don't know, did the police ever find out what happened? Mom and Dad said the details weren't too clear, and that we still don't know what happened to her for sure." She finally takes a pause in her rant.

"No, we still haven't heard anything," Spencer responds with a dry ambivalence, not entirely sure how to read Melissa's gushing concern for her. They haven't hugged in almost two years beyond a brief embrace for geniality. And the last time the two were together in the same room it resulted in angry shouts.

Melissa pulls Spencer down to sit on the couch next to her. She doesn't let go of her hand and massages it a little with her forefingers. The last time she was this nurturing and protective of her sister was when Spence was a kiddie on the playground. Some punk 9 year old named Cassandra pushed her down, and started laughing and taunting her. Melissa ran over and lifted the bully straight in the air, holding her suspended right in front of her infuriated visage. She told the other girl that if she ever touched her sister again, that she was going to make her eat her own jump-rope. She'd wait for her after school and teach her a lesson when she least expected it. Cassandra never bothered her again. Melissa lets go of her and brings Spence back to reality. "Both Darren and Garrett are now on the force," Melissa speaks up a little cautiously, "They still owe me a few favors from high school. Maybe they can be extra helpful in passing information along from the department. I figured any little bit can help placing your mind at ease."

Spencer relaxes her shoulders, and leans back into the cushions, her body finally realizing that there are no ulterior motives from her sister, no hidden barbs waiting to spring the trap. Melissa is honestly concerned for her in this moment of tribulation. "Thanks," she says to her sister with a short and forced smile, "But I don't know how much they could do. I mean, I doubt Emily is even still in the state." Melissa responds with a grimace and is at a lost for what to say. Spencer continues, "What if we never see her again?" Tears begin to form in the younger sister's eyes. She's been a rock this whole time, but there is no more willpower left, "I can't believe that the last thing I might ever say to her was 'FYI, here's a fashion tip, that flannel shirt makes you look like a lesbian." Spence collapses forward into Melissa's shoulder, letting all the pent up tears come out, "...was such a horrible thing to say, and now I might not ever get to take it back."

Spencer straights herself back up, after the second, there-there pat Melissa delivers for comfort. She needs to talk it out not just wail like a little kid. "It's even worse since," Spence stops herself unsure if she should tell the secret, but she cannot hold this guilt in much longer, "Since… Emily really is… gay… a lesbian." She feels a gaping hole in her heart every second her sister fails to respond.

"I kind of already knew," Melissa admits, shifting her eyes and shrugging. Spencer's mouth almost falls open like a shocked cartoon character. "It's not that big a surprise is it?," she defends, "Come on, you have to have seen the way she looks at Alison. She's constantly staring at her all doe-eyed when she thinks Alison isn't looking. I'm just surprised that man-eater didn't bite poor Emily's head off for it. She'd be pretty pissed if she found out."

Chuckling nervously, Spencer twirls a piece of brown hair around her index finger. Melissa presses an inquisitive look, and she knows her sister will give in eventually, unable to keep a secret for very long. Spence sighs and crosses her hands on her lap, "Okay, so it's probably going to come out in the paper tomorrow anyway, since Mr. and Mrs. Fields had to tell the police as a possible motive for running away, or the kidnapping, or whatever it was." Melissa waits in anticipation, a look of befuddlement over her visage, wondering just what the hell she is even getting at. "Yeah, umm…," Spencer struggles to get out, hoping she is not violating Ali's sacred confidence, "Emily's feelings might not have been as one-sided as you are imagining."

Melissa's eyes bulge and her mouth suspends itself in a shape of a small oval, seemingly unable to process this new bit of information into her existing cognitive schema. "What do you mean it wasn't one-sided?," she chokes out, "You're not suggesting that Emily and Alison were…"

"I'm not suggesting it, Melissa," Spencer confirms in a particularly pointed tone, frustrated and taking it out on her innocent sister, "Ali told me and the girls herself, but you can't say anything to her. She's so broken up about Emily missing that she isn't even like the same old Alison. There's very little confidence left. She seems so tiny, now." She notices a little flair lighting up behind Melissa's irises, an almost imperceptible smirk breaking on the ridges of her lips. "I know you hate her for flirting with Ian, and that the two of you are in some kind of feud," Spence cuts off her devilish machinations, "But that's stopping right now. She's hurting and you need to bury the hatchet, or I'll bury it for you."

Melissa moves her hands up over her sides in surrender, "Geez, Spencer, I get it. You don't have to bite my head off." She sighs and shift herself a little more deeply into her sister's side to show that there is no reason to be combative toward her. "I wasn't gonna do anything to the poor thing," she confirms, "It's just funny to hear that the girl who merciless mocked people for being 'gayrons' or who called this one nerdy boy, 'hermie' was having heavy make-out sessions with Emily in a dark closet somewhere." She smiles with a sense of smug satisfaction.

"Whatever," the younger Hastings replies shaking her head, not wanting to deal with this right now. She presses off on her knees and gets to her feet, her boots clanking against the coffee table and shaking the glass. "I have to go to the store and get some comfort supplies for Ali," Spence announces a little too loudly for emphasis, "She's probably gonna be spending a lot of time over here over the next few weeks until we can find… hopefully find Emily."

"Spencer, wait come on," Melissa whines apologetically, but Spencer just ignores her and keeps walking to the front door.

A cop car pulls up into the Hastings' drive way just as Spencer tugs the front door closed behind her. She freezes in place upon hearing the tires against the gravel. She twists her head to peak at the white and black cruiser. It slows to a halt and the driver's seat door pops open. Clumsily, detective Darren Wilden steps out with his long legs, the pant leg ridding up on his black socks.

Spencer trots down the few porch steps as the Detective makes his way up the path. "Good afternoon, Miss Hastings," he exchanges basic pleasantries so courteously, folding one hand over the other, "Your sister told me that you're worried about your friend and that if we could be of any assistance in assuaging your concerns…" Spencer's face turns skeptical, not entirely sure if this is standard procedure in these situation where a friend is involved. "I only wanna ask you a few questions," Wilden clarifies.

Melissa pokes her head out of the door and yells in a neutral voice at Wilden, "When I told you to help my little sister, I didn't mean to come and interrogate her for intel." She takes up a defensive position next to Spencer, placing an arm protectively around her shoulder. Spencer shirks away from her at first touch, but in a moment appreciates the calming hold.

"It's only some simple questions, for me to get a better grasp of the situation, Spencer," he breaks the formal protocol, using her first name. He senses her shoulder relaxing, letting her shields down a bit. Wilden reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a pen and paper. He sits down on the bottom step and motions for Spencer to do the same.

"Okay," Spencer stutters tentatively, brushing off the bit of dirt on the step before cautiously sitting down. Melissa heads back inside tapping Spencer on the shoulder and letting her know she's going to make them both a pot of earl grey tea. "What do you wanna know?," she coos, sucking in her lips.

Wilden breezes over some of the pages, presumably reviewing some questions he had prepared to ask beforehand. "When was the last time you saw Emily Fields?," he launches the first question. His eyes have transformed to a steelier, more professional state. This must be the face he gives to all the perps under the fluorescent light and he cannot turn it off when he is doing his job. The questions flow like this for a while, Spencer answering them honestly and as fully as she can. Nothing out of the ordinary; that is, until they get to the last question not checked off on his list.

"Is it true," Wilden asks in a slightly more nefarious and sneaky tone, "That you and Alison DiLaurentis were having some troubles in your relationship with one another?" Spencer's face drops in disbelief that he would and could, know such a thing. "A source that would like to remain anonymous came to us yesterday, and I don't want to alarm you, but they informed us of some troubling things." Spencer pushes him to go on by leaning in closer, too shocked to respond in reasoned speech. "This source told us that Emily was in love with Alison, and in our talks with Mr. and Mrs. Fields, they have since confirmed that," the Detective continues his scathing inquiry, "Am I wrong to presume that you also knew of this youthful infatuation?" All she can do is shake her head affirmatively. "But, this person also leveled a rather bold accusation against you, Spencer. They told us you secretly had feelings for Alison and that you were terribly jealous of the fact that Alison reciprocated Emily's feelings, but not yours and that this placed a strain on your relationship with both Alison and Emily. That you began to despise Emily and try to do everything that you could to make Alison choose you instead of her."

"Who the hell is this person?," Spencer barks back, reclaiming some of that Hastings righteous indignation, "Somebody is obviously trying to slander me. I'm not into Alison. I love her, but I don't like like her like that." She stands to her feet and marches a few paces from the front steps, "Did you get a chance to talk to Ali? Did she tell you that this person is making up bold-faced lies? She can tell you that there is nothing between us, that Em and I weren't fighting." Spencer's hands are now flaming as she says whatever she can think of to defend herself from these assaults.

The sound of the tea kettle from inside pierces the air. "Woah, woah, calm down," Wilden says softly and springs up, placing his hands up in surrender, "I'm not the bad guy here. This isn't me talking. I'm only laying out the field, so you know what you're up against, just like your sister asked me to." He scratches his head and closes the distance between himself and Spencer, "Gossip spreads fast in this town, and my boss is considering this as serious evidence, even after I protested that she regard it as mere hearsay." The detective walks her down the path to his cruiser, sensing that she will not be staying around anyway to entertain any more of his questions. Taking a step back might just be taking a step forward. She bites her tongue and listens to what he has to say. "I'm just saying to be careful," he reiterates his general point, "Don't do anything that will make you look suspicious. Don't give them a reason to make them think you had anything to do with your friends disappearance. Be the model citizen your sister says you are. Don't run away from home or anything." There is an absurd smile on the lips of his last sentence.

"If you leave right now, you won't get any of Melissa's famous tea," Spence quips sarcastically, trying to lighten the atmosphere between them, letting out an awkward chuckle which falls flat.

Darren pops the cruiser door open and gives her a pity scoff in return. He slides into the drivers seat, inserting the key in the ignition but not turning it on. "Personally, I'm a coffee man," he replies, looking back up at the brunette standing over him, "Tea just doesn't cut it for me. Plus, coffee and alcohol are the only drugs I can legally consume as an officer of the law." He winks and turns the key, the engine roaring to life. "You need a ride anywhere?," he offers in earnest and even sweetens the deal, "I'll even let you play with the siren."

Spencer twists in her boots and hugs her arms around her torso. The weather has turned cold this morning and she forgot to take a jacket with her. She pats her pocket, noticing that Melissa distracted her from remembering to take her keys, as well. Not wanting walk all the way back up the path to get her stuff, she tells him, "If it's not too much trouble, you can take me to the minimart. That's where I was headed," she points in the vague direction of the center of town, "I need to pick up a few things."

He motions his head for her to hop in. What's the worst that could happen, right? Wilden is a cop after all, she reasons. She walks around the front of the squad car and climbs in the front seat. The interior smells brand new and there is no junk or snack crumbs anywhere. She makes sure to buckle the seatbelt around her waist, not wanting to disrespect the law right in front of a cop, even though he appears to pay no attention to it. He takes off at a speed that would seem a little too reckless for a civilian. He doesn't buckle his own seatbelt. "I'm sorry about before," Wilden says, still feeling the need to hammer home his point, "I didn't mean to shake you up too badly. I only needed to gauge your reaction to see if there was any truth to the allegations. I know Melissa for a long time. Trust me, I'm on Team Hastings. The more honest you're with me, the more I can help you."

"No, I appreciate your help," Spencer says as if she were more frustrated with herself than with him, "I am sorry too if I came off bitchy." She presses a couple fingers to her right temple and leans an elbow on the window, tilting her head so as to stare out the window at the homes and cars passing by. "It's just," she whines, "I'm so worried about Emily, and this whole thing is so twisted. I can't even… I don't like feeling not in control, you know? This makes me feel powerless and I'm taking it out on people like you and Melissa."

"You're not the worst of them, believe me," Wilden retorts to lessen some of her guilt. He takes a sharp right and Spencer loses her grounding on the window edge, slipping down and almost bumping her head into the glass. "Those who have lost someone are the least forgiving toward the police," he continues, checking his speed once they near the center of town, "Always blaming us for not having done more."

The mini-mart is up on the left side, and Detective Wilden makes an illegal turn across the double yellow lines to park on the curb in front of the entrance. Spence hangs onto the strap above the door for that maneuver, keeping her face far away from hitting the window pane. He pulls along side the curb masterfully, presses too hard on the break and shifts the gear into park. "Thanks for the ride," Spencer chirps, opening the door halfway.

Wilden bounces his hand up and down on the stick shift. Spencer slips out the door when he does not respond with a "no problem," or something like, "anytime." But before she can find her proper footing on the curb, Darren calls out to her. He opens his door and stands with his head above the top of the cruiser, so that he can look at her eye-to-eye. "Be careful," he warns her somewhat more sternly, "You and I are both not as stupid as the average Rosewood donut cop. You know given the facts about Emily that letter could only have been written by someone who knew her deep dark secret. There is only one person who we know knew for certain."

"Are you saying you think it's Ali who kidnapped Emily?," Spencer says suspiciously, pushing her door closed with a slam. The cold wind blows her hair into an even bigger mess than it was when she left. Her cheeks and nose turn a slight shade of pink from the brisk air. She sniffles waiting for his justification.

"I'm not saying that exactly," he clarifies, tapping a finger on the roof of the car, "I'm saying it had to be someone close to know exactly what to write in that letter, or force her to write. So… watch yourself." Without another word, he gets back inside the cruiser and speeds off, leaving Spencer even more anxious than when she woke up this morning.

The center of town is packed this morning. The weather is beginning to turn towards winter and everyone is trying to get in the last real experience of the outdoors before it becomes unbearably freezing, and the outside is reduced to a mere transit space. Spencer tries to shake the things the equivocal detective was telling her out of her head, before walking into the mini-mart. She picks up one of those blue, handheld shopping baskets on the way inside. There is only one prime directive that matters, one thing she needs to be focusing on: tracking down 'A' and rescuing Emily. Who cares if Wilden is really on Team Hastings or if he is using his connection with Melissa to break the case wide open and come out looking like a star for the Rosewood PD? Alison and she are not going to leave Em's fate dangling in the hands of the bumbling police. 'A' is not giving them any choice.

Spencer grabs a ready-set first-aid kit off the shelf and flips it over to make sure it contains all the works. She puts it back in exchange for the $23 dollar, deluxe kit, which prepares for more eventualities. She drops it in her basket and moves on. A map might come in handy should their cell service ever give out. She takes two, just incase. Powerbars will be essential. Who knows how often they will be eating? Gatorade, lots of Gatorade to keep their bodies properly hydrated in stressful situations. Spence even picks up two packets of caffeine tablets. She doesn't want to go into withdrawals at a crucial moment. Her body is used to at least seven cups of coffee a day. Damn, her tiny basket is already full. We're there any larger carts by the doors?

A split second after she contemplates circling back to the front of the store, someone bumps into her with a full-sized shopping cart. "Spencer," that charming British accent rings out. "Please don't let it be", she silently prays even though she is not a believer, as she turns round to find none other than the good Dr. Kingston standing there with a cheeky grin on his face.

"You keep pretending that it's not fate," Wren teases, backing his cart up a few inches, "But I think fate is beginning to prove you wrong." As she struggles to find her words, he presses up on his toes and peers into her basket. He takes notice of the bizarre assortment of medical supplies and candied snacks. It might make sense for a doctor who is putting in a lot of late ER hours, but not for a high school student. "What's with all the candy bars and bandages," he quips, taking a step around his cart closer to her, "You're not running away are you?" He meant that last line to be a joke, but Spence's face drops in response, and he exclaims, "Oh God, you're not actually running away are you?"

Spencer shifts her eyes and rearranges the items in her basket, so that they are perfectly stacked and aligned. "It's not exactly running away," she mumbles, "There's something I have to do, and my parents aren't going to let me do it if they knew." She wraps her elbow more securely around the basket handle, snuggling it closer to her chest. "And they're powerbars, not candy bars," she objects.

Wren shuffles closer to stand mere inches from away Spencer's face. He doesn't want what he is about to say to be overheard by any intrusive shoppers nearby. Rosewood is the kind of bourgeois town where the only thing juicer than a new BMW or a diamond ring is shameful gossip. "Are you going to see Emily?," he whispers into her ear, "I overheard from some noisy housewives what happened the other day when I had to go pay a parking ticket at the courthouse. I called you to offer my warm wishes, but your Dad picked up the phone and wouldn't let me speak to you."

"No," Spencer responds in the negative with a sardonic moan, "Despite what some of the talk around town might be saying, we don't have the slightest clue where Emily is. Everyone of us is so broken up about her. It's not even funny, and people have the gall to bullsh... about us." The final words come with some bite off the edge of her razor sharp tongue.

"I'm sorry," he quickly apologizes, feeling he may have just stumbled over his words, "I didn't mean to imply that you didn't…"

"It's okay," Spence cuts him off, rubbing her eye brows with a thumb and forefinger, "I have been snapping at people since I got out of bed this morning. You're not the first and probably won't be the last. I'm just way too tired and stressed to maintain a reasonable social persona today." She sidesteps him and grabs a small pack of cookies, balancing it carefully on top of her already full load. "Don't judge me," she jokes, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere between them, "These are nutritional and low fat."

Wren shrugs and reminds her, "Hey, I smoke now and again, so if you want to block up your arteries a little and probably trim a few years off your life, that's your business." He raises his hands in mock surrender. He twirls his cart around and digs through some of the groceries, pulling out a box of Oreo's and a bag of M&Ms, "Besides, who am I to judge?" Wren always knows how to defuse her and beat her at her own game. It is one of the qualities she finds most alluring in him. She loves a challenge and he is never easy.

She covers her mouth with her palm, trying to obscure his vision from catching sight of her giggle. Even when he is frustrating he is oddly sweet in going about it. "What's the real reason you're running away, Spence?," he returns to his serious persona. Yet, it is more of a please-will-you-tell-me voice, rather than an authoritative adult tone. He never treats her like a child.

"I shouldn't be telling you this, because I haven't even told the girls," Spencer confesses, pulling on a strand of her brunette hair, "But it's killing me to hide it from everyone, and you're not gonna let me go until I tell you so..." She glances all round her to make sure nobody is close enough to be eavesdropping. "Do you promise you won't tell my parents?," she pleads with vulnerable puppy dog eyes.

"Well, if I was going to tell your parents," Wren replies leaning up against his cart, "I think already knowing your plans to run away would be enough. The particular reason for your running away would be ancillary to that, don't you think?" The way his words flow like velvet off his tongue gets her lost in their pure presence, only half comprehending the content of his speech.

"Ugh," Spence groans and runs a nervous hand through her hair, making it even more unkept looking than before. "We don't know exactly who kidnapped her," she lies, no wanting to give away the secret of Ali's twin sister, Courtney DiLaurentis, "But we think that person may have tried to contact us last night, and dared Alison and me to come find Emily before it's too late. And, we're scared that if we don't do what they say, or if we turn them into the police, Emily is gonna to be the one who pays the price."

Beep. Beep. Spencer's cell phone goes off. She stares down nervously at it, hesitating to read the incoming text in case it is another taunt from 'A'. Wren's eyes follow her every move, and he clearly picks up on the uneasiness with which she reacts to the message. She marshals the necessary courage and opens her phone. Sigh. It is only a text from Ali. " _I'm waiting on your bed whenever you're ready. Parents were no help. :-(_ " If that was read in any other context, Spencer thinks to herself, that text would sound naughty.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," Spence mutters and wiggles the phone in her hand, "Ali's waiting for me and time is of the essence." She navigates herself around the tall lad and turns back to face him, "Please don't say anything. I'm begging you."

Wren nods sympathetically and pushes his hands into his front pants pockets, "The fate of Emily shouldn't be on your shoulders alone, Spence. I wish you'd reconsider and get the authorities involved in this."

"I wish I could delegate the responsibility of this," Spencer replies in a weak and small voice, almost as if she is on the verge of tears, "But you don't understand everything, and I need you to trust me when I say that we have to do this. If we don't step up and do this and something happens to her..." She presses a hand to her lips, fighting to hold back the waterworks, "I could never forgive myself." She lets out a breath of air that she was holding in and waves to him slowly, "Goodbye, Wren."

She navigates around him and his cart. He watches her in silence as she disappears around the corner of the isle. Spence brings her shopping items into the self-checkout lane, not wanting to talk to anybody else today. One stupid bag of cookies is being difficult and will not scan no matter how many times she tries. Instead of walking to place it back on its proper shelf, she simply leaves it behind on the counter, swiping her credit card through the machine to pay for the rest of the items. Once she is out into the chilly open air, she remembers that she stupidly had Wilden give her a lift and now she has no means of transportation available. She decides to walk it. She might freeze and catch a cold (or is that a myth?), but there is noway she is asking Wren for a ride home.

The walk takes about twenty minutes and her lower lip is visibly shivering from the cold air. Melissa is nowhere to be found when Spencer comes in from the front door, but Alison is sprawled across the couch, apparently resting and only opening her eyes at the sound of door. "I got tired of waiting on your bed," is all that Ali says, swinging her feet over the side and pushing herself up.

Spencer places the stolen basket from the minimart on the sofa table. She kneels down and begins transferring the items into the black duffle bag Ali laid out previously. "So, we're gonna do this then?," Alison asks for a final confirmation, moving down into a catcher's position next to the brunette. She cups a hand over Spence's knuckles to test her temperature and confirms that she is freezing. Ali reaches behind her on the sofa and wraps a throw-over around the brunette's shoulders, waiting for her to reply.

"It was your idea," Spencer retorts, wondering why there is a sudden reversal in the other girl's voice. Last night, she practically had to talk Alison down from tearing this whole world apart to find Emily.

The blonde gives a comforting squeeze to Spencer's shoulder and coos, "It's my girl I have to go get. I don't wanna drag you into anything you're not totally okay with. In fact, I kinda feel guilty for making you come with me. I really should do this alone."

Spencer tilts her head and conveys her disbelief with a wonky visage. "You might care about Em in a way that we can't," she reminds Alison, "But that doesn't mean we love her any less. You're not alone in this. And, you're not forcing me to do anything. You may have suggested that we actually run away and go find her, play A's game, but we were both thinking it. Plus, you're not the one who is already OCDing this entire game plan in her head, planning it down to the last detail." She chuckles at the absurdity of it all to lighten the tension.

Ali nudges her elbow into Spencer's side, "So you'll be Sam to my Frodo?"

"Why can't I be Frodo?," she whines in reply, causing both the girls to burst out in laughter. After a moment to catch their breathe, Spencer confesses, "I love that even though, you're the queen bee of the school, you're not afraid to show your nerdy side to me." She goes quiet for a minute when Ali also retains her silence. "I'm sorry, you know," Spencer continues, "You and I have been butting heads lately, and I think it's because I'm jealous of what you have. Everybody worships the ground you walk on, and I envy how the other girls do whatever you say."

Alison wets her lips and presses up on her knees to stand. "It's not your fault," she admits, "I'm a dictator. But suddenly none of these stupid high school problems seem to matter any more. I don't wanna rule the school anymore or have every guy lusting after me, only to get a kick out of denying them after bringing them to the very edge. All I want is Em back in my arms and you three by my side. That's all that matters to me."

After Spence finishing writing a note to her parents explaining how they left to go find Emily, the girls make haste to load their suitcases into the trunk of the black BMW Mr. and Mrs. Hastings gave to Melissa on her 18th birthday, but that she never uses since she got a new Mercedes-Benz.

Just as Ali is about to slam the trunk shut, she hears the sound of tires on gravel pulling up the driveway. She prays it is not the Hastings coming to shatter their otherwise ingenious plans. She cannot make out who is in the driver's seat, but it is an old Toyota 4Runner, something much too pedestrian for Spence's parents to ever purchase. A brown-haired, handsome looking man dressed in loafers and a neatly pressed button down shirt steps out of the car door.

"Wren, what are you doing here?", Spencer shouts at him, her arms wrapped protectively around her midriff.

"So, I've been thinking," Wren explains calmly as he saunters up to the brunette, "And, I do not think I can let you two go off alone to confront some psychopath who you think has kidnapped your best friend and is sending you these messages." His hands are in his pockets, and while his posture is relaxed, his voice is commanding, letting her know this is not open for negotiation.

Yet, she tries anyway, "Please don't turn us into the cops. Please don't tell my parents. We need to do this." The last words come out as a soft cry of desperation, "If you still care about me, please don't. I'll do anything."

Alison moves around to the front of the car, taking up a guard-dog posture next to her friend. Wren simply smiles warmly, "I'm not gonna turn you in. I get it. I know you need to do this. You would never do something so spontaneous and stupid if it wasn't necessary. I know that. But, you know, taking Melissa's old car will make it terribly easy for the police to hunt you down in less than 24 hours. All they'd have to do is put out an APB with the license plate number." The dashing young doctor steps forward, "So we're going to take my car."

"We?," Alison questions in her pissed off tone.

"I'm not letting the two of you go running off on your own across the country. I've seen American movies," Wren says and then focuses his gaze on Spencer, "I'm not letting you run off alone. It's my ultimatum. Take it or leave it."

Ali tries to stare down Wren and make him cave, but his resolve is absolute. "Okay," Spencer mutters, giving up. Ali opens her lips to protest, but Spencer gives her a look of re-assurance—we can trust him. The blonde walks back over to the trunk of Melissa's BMW and grabs their suitcases from the trunk. She shoots daggers at the British boy as she passes him by and whispers to him, "You better not be playing us. And, you better not hurt her." Ali pops the hatch to his 4Runner and tosses their luggage into the back, before hopping in the back seat, presuming Spence will want to sit up front.

"Shall we depart?," Wren asks in a properly formal voice.

Spencer nods and the two walk over to the SUV. Before she pops open the passenger seat door, she concedes to him, "Thank you," and offers a small grin of appreciation for his chivalry.


End file.
